The Still Of The Night
by Elvesta17
Summary: Aireiel Nelethrin and her father Edenir have been living a peaceful life for almost four centuries. But when a twisted turn of events brings them at the front door of the Woodland Realm to King Thranduil's mercy, their lives are about to change dramatically. A lost princess of Lothlorien is thrown on a path of seeking her true identity and her destiny. But will she find it?
1. Chapter 1: prologue

_**The Still Of The Night**_

 **Before we begin with the story I would first like to explain a few things. This is my second fanfiction in general, but I would like to mildly warn you, or should I say inform you that I tend to evolve throughout the chapters, both in my the writing style and the progress of the story line. Therefore, I would kindly ask you to be patient with me and the story for I have lots of ideas which (quite unjustly) don't get to get their own opportunity just yet since I am always busy with school.  
** **Secondly, if I don't update the story in more than a month it does not mean I have quit the story (fret not, if such tragedy should occur and my seemingly endless inspiration should dry out, I would be a kind soul enough to let you know in time) or gave up on writing in general; the thing is, I have quite a tight schedule, but I try my best to (if I quote the dear FanFiction motto) "unleash my imagination" as frequently as possible.  
Now the serious part: I do not own any of the characters nor the events (wars and that stuff) - only the characters Aireiel and Edenir, all of their connections to the Middle Earth are fictional and a product of my imagination. Everything else belongs to the legends John Ronald Reuel Tolkien and Peter Jackson. **

**Right so that would be it regarding the intro stuff. I hope you will enjoy the story and please do not hesitate to share your thoughts on it!**

* * *

Chapter 1: _Prologue_

The late summer sunbeams were peering through ancient thick trees, guiding the way to the old forest road at the west Mirkwood. The air was fresh and humid, filled with sweet and spicy scents of exotic flowers scattered on the soft forest ground. This was the definition of happiness for Aireiel Nelethrin. A perfect start of an early morning. Sleepy, hazy dawns were Aireiel's favourite part of the day; when the hidden mighty world of Mirkwood is just waking up from its tired task of maintaining the endlessly horrific reputation. Though, as it was in her Sindar nature, she was fearless. A restless hunter that knew this part of Mirkwood by heart. This was what she got used to in the years of living on her own with her thousands of years old father, Edenir Nelethrin, long omitted descendant of the Forgotten Lords (that ruled these lands even before the arrival of the royal family of the last Lorien's ruler, Amroth), bereft of his own title. She got used to escaping their normal morning routines to run back to her own world. A world with no wars, resentments and bullies. Each stole something precious from her.

Aireiel caught a sight of a resting mammal twenty meters from her, nourishing with some greenery. She took a chance and slowly crept towards it. The animal caught her scent and started running for its life. Aireiel began to pick up her pace until she was running along with the animal, deep into the heart of the forest. Disobeying her father's rules and defying his will once again, she raced side-by-side with the speeding creature through the solitary thicket that started to become more dense and impenetrable with each step. The only sight of the animal she was able to follow were the blurry spots of its light brown fur with symmetrical white dots scattered over it that occasionally emerged from the maze of the forest's boughs.

The cost of the war was high. She lost her mother, Amalondeth, when she was just a little girl, her older sister Heraithiel and her younger brother Erurhil, to the forces of the Darkness. The pain of the loss was indescribable. The resentments stole her father's rightful position. All the elven kingdoms rejected their calls for help, wherever they, and other lost families that once happily lived under Amroth's reign, strayed for over a century after the announcement of the death of their King. A few families were too late for the departure of the ships that were to cross the Sundering Seas to the Undying Lands, where most of the Lorien inhabitants travelled to in order to escape the rising evil, and also where king Amroth had selfishly fled to with his love Nimrodel, leaving the Elves of Lothlórien behind, leaving them scattered and leaderless, afraid and lost.

Many centuries had passed without any protection over Lothlorien. Some families insisted on staying in their homes, not wishing to abandon their past as the future for their descendants, including Aireiel's family. For a long time they managed to live in seeming peace and prosperity when, in fact, their lives were all but peaceful. But the word that Lorien had found itself without an accomplished guardian and capable army soon arrived to the ears of Sauron's forces that invaded the Misty Mountains and the ruins of Moria. The Dark Lord saw an appealing opportunity that would result in both fulfilment of his strategic plan and enrichment of his military forces. After the attack all the families were affected by the invasion: some would see their hundreds of years old homes burned to the ground, others were forced to part from their crops, and then there were the ones like Aireiel with the greatest misfortune of all – to see their loved ones tortured and slaughtered. The image of it and the pain shall never fade from their memory as long as they breathed. The last thing Aireiel remembered from those horrible times was her father running towards her, screaming her name through fire and smoke with nothing but destruction behind him.

Edenir's family was known to be one of the most respectable and honourable ones in the wide region of Lorien. Even when the foundations of Lothlorien's politics were still based on ancient monarchy, the years of loyal service and devotion to this land did not go unnoticed even by the King Amdír whose mercy and favour Edenir enjoyed while there was piece in those lands. His hard work, commitment, and respect were the traits that persuaded King Amdír to bestow a noble title upon Edenir and appoint him as one of the grand lords of Lorien, yet his true heritage was still unknown both to the King as Lorien's inhabitants. Needless to say, such achievement encouraged many of Edenir's rivals to grow even greater resentment and hatred towards him. Not long after the title had been imparted to him, evil tongues started to spread spiteful rumours of Edenir and his family. Even though the amount of those foolish enough to accept and continue to spread the gossip was surprisingly high, Edenir was not short of admirers and supporters who efficiently defended him and his principles even long after the King's death.

Yet still the rumours managed to endure even in the cruellest conditions a land can confront – war and its aftermath (including the later inevitable migration of Lothlorien inhabitants, as well as Edenir's family who was deprived of its three members and all the privileges gained in the time of piece) – and passed onto its survivors. Shortly after the first effects of the destruction of Lorien, the rumours had successfully reached even the most distant lands, every kingdom they'd arrived to started to turn against them. The inhabitants did not like newcomers in their kingdom, especially not vagabonds professing their innocence and reporting of their homeland being destroyed by the hand of the Shadow. They wished none of their curse to be transmitted to their own lands. The times were indeed dark, and despite of the Elves' usual friendly welcome, the separate dwellings of this specific kind took special care in caution and restriction for the word of evil ailing the lands reached far and wide. Even though some of the lords themselves did not utter direct threats towards the young families, they were forced to move because of the rising pressure and growing threats, sent by the infuriated and incensed nation. Soon, the abandoned families were left on their own like refugees. With no shelter to run to, barely enough food for a few months, and some ripped old clothes was everything the families were left with.

After centuries of straying the vast lands of Middle Earth the news of Lothlorien regaining its stability came to the lost families. Supposedly their homeland had found new guardians and the joy that overcame the wanderers was indescribable. The lost families embarked on the path to their homes, guided by the hope of a renewed life they'd lost. But Edenir was not as fascinated by the fact that his homeland had supposedly recovered by the hand of these foreigners the messengers spoke of. Many who were stunned at Edenir's decision not to join them on their path of redemption failed to see that the only possible way he could achieve his redemption was through vengeance. That only the spill of the enemy's blood could roughly suffice to quench the undying drive to go insane. That only when he shall send those vicious souls responsible for their revolting crimes to hell his spirit will be able to fly free again.

Aireiel's breath got deeper and heavier, but she kept on running parallel to the speeding animal. The thrill of keeping up with its speed was addictive. It was like she was sent to an entire different atmosphere only for Aireiel and her prey to exist. As if nothing else was real but a part of an ill dream.

The sound of crackling of an endless blanket of green leaves covering the ground was starting to increase, when suddenly the animal disappeared behind a tree. When Aireiel approached the giant oak there was nothing but light blue fog with silver rays and precipitous, narrow ravine ahead of it. With breath caught in her throat, she realised she somehow found herself in the Woodland Realm. She didn't recall crossing any rivers, that's why the whole situation was even stranger. Aireiel hid behind the great dark brown bark and observed the surroundings with her eyes wide open. She had never been this far from home before. She simply mindlessly followed the animal deep into the woods without realizing her step. How typical.

Surely, she would hear some harsh words from her father when she should reach home, but the sight in front of her was simply astonishing. Even though the most beautiful land she'd ever visited was Rivendell, which held quite a wide and loud reputation, that spread far across Middle Earth of having the most beautiful landscape, this part of Mirkwood was a land of its own. The ground was coloured deep green from which old and tall trees grew high and proud, reaching up to the bright blue sky. Small birds and insects were swiftly flying around the trees, the sunlight was soft and adequately warm, the wind fresh and wild. It seemed as if her heart was possessed by the radiant beauty of the enchanting forest. When her eyes stopped searching and wandering around the surroundings, she looked a bit to her left. She saw a path that most likely led to the main entrance of the infamous palace. At the end of the path there were large gates, decorated with two high pillars. Oh, how she craved to see what was in there. But she dared not. She heard who ruled there, the great Elvenking Thranduil, son of the mighty warrior Oropher whose glory was praised even centuries after his unfortunate decease. Even though she opposed any kind of monarchy ever since the betrayal of her own King, she had the greatest respect for the King of the Elves of the Wood. And same amount of respect went to his son, Prince Legolas, of whom she heard great stories. She heard he mastered the techniques of arrows and daggers, like herself. She often daydreamed of confronting him one day in a spontaneous combat. But surely, those were just foolish fantasies with low chances of actualization. She also heard of another elvish being that resided inside king Thranduil's castle walls. It was the infamous Tauriel, captain of the Elven guard of Thranduil's Woodland Realm. Aireiel liked to think she was a lot like Tauriel; within and without, but for a change, her eyes were piercingly light brown with shades of green, curiously gazing into the world around her. She was taught to be a part of the forest at a young age. She learned its secrets, its hidden paths and mostly, learned to value its beauty. One can be truly at home only when one appreciates its magnificence. She oriented very well on the mysterious ways of Mirkwood, for she started hunting here ever since she was on her own with her father. Every time she went hunting, the forest would welcome her inside and embrace her as one of its own.

Just as Aireiel was about to give in to her curiosity and slowly approach the entrance, she heard a stamp of feet approaching.

"Noro lim, **mellonnath**! Aran thel aníra ihaw hi," said a commanding voice that approached fast. It appeared to be Legolas's. **(Run swift,** **friends!** **The** **K** **ing will want to hear** **about** **this.)**

Aireiel hid right in time before the rank of elves arrived. If she had lingered only for a half a second longer, she'd be noticed. And most certainly taken to the King himself for questioning for lurking and assumed hunting within the borders of the Realm.

She recognized the company of elves as the Royal Guard coming from the North. She saw Tauriel walking alongside Legolas and they seemed fully occupied discussing some important matter, thankfully not paying much attention to the surroundings. As they were crossing the passage to the entrance, Aireiel carefully slid a bit lower, near the oak's roots, to have a better view of the walking Woodland Realm Guard. The leaders, Tauriel and Legolas, were the first to enter the King's halls through heavy doors, opened by the mighty elven palace guards. The rest of the elves didn't wear their usual armour, but they did seem quite exhausted and their long green garb looked worn out. It appeared as if they'd encountered an unwelcome guest back at the North. She wondered who that might be.

Since the terrible war, she heard all kinds of stories of vile things creeping beneath the trees of Mirkwood. That darkness lay upon that forest. Aireiel couldn't ignore all the rumours of late forever. She'd travelled most of the west Mirkwood and she found out the rumours were, in fact, correct. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something was definitely off. The forest had changed. Great evil shall rise again, she could feel it in her bones. She had a sense for these things. But as a humble and insignificant wood-elf, forced to flee from her own home, she knew her actions, no matter how courageous, wouldn't make much difference. Aireiel could only dream of becoming a part of the Royal Guard. But even if she'd be accepted amongst the elite, she'd be mocked, laughed at. Soon Tauriel would realize she's not the right material and she would have to leave. And that was a disgrace she could not afford. It wasn't as simple as it may seemed. Aireiel had all the time she needed to think over her chances of ever reclaiming her and her father's title. But there wasn't much to think. They'd fail, no matter where they'd flee.

Legolas escorted Tauriel and a part of her guard back to the meeting hall. It was around noon now and the sunlight was leaking through high walls, shining onto the stairs upon which they were walking. Legolas couldn't stop thinking about the malice he had just witnessed. He had never seen such vile, putrid beings before as those gigantic spiders. They must've been sent here for a purpose. As he was leading the way, he turned to Tauriel who was walking right beside him.

"Tuin uin ner taug rhû. Man na en gon?" said Legolas while they were walking the high stairway leading to Thranduil's throne. **(Those creatures were pure evil.** **Who is their leader?** **)**

"Ú-iston. Ennas ner limb," Tauriel responded with a worried expression. It seemed those creatures truly frightened her. Though he could not blame her. **(I do not know. There were so many.)**

Legolas saw the tiredness in her eyes and he felt guilty. It wasn't necessary for Tauriel to come along when they were called this morning, but still he insisted. He wanted her by her side, because she was his only friend within these walls. He trusted no one else as he trusted Tauriel.

"I am sorry, Tauriel" he uttered after a while. "For everything." He did not dare to look her straight in those green eyes. He didn't want to come off too vulnerable.

"Ha na tríw, estel nin. Baw trass, muin Legolas," she replied with a strong voice. This was the Tauriel he knew. The unbroken warrior. **(It is fine, truly. Do not worry, dear Legolas.)**

"Im anírant pêd agoreg vae sír," Legolas finally said and they both smiled at each other. Tauriel nodded in reply as a sign of acknowledgement and appreciation of his observation. **(I wanted to say you did well today.)**

Even though he was aware that the horrible feeling she got when they encountered those evil things was still dwelling in her soul, he deemed it wiser not to bring the subject up again. Their friendship was a special bond, consisting more of signs and mind-reading rather than actual words. There was no one else he'd count on more in the times of war or desolation. After all, there was some comfort in knowing someone always had your back.

They approached the final stairs that led directly to the king Thranduil. There he was in all his majesty. Today, the Elvenking was clad in a long silver outfit sewn with white and dark grey glittery threads. His crown was made of red leaves and berries of the autumn, his long fingers decorated with rings made of moonstones. His blood red cape rested on his arm and crawled down to his feet. It suddenly moved as he lifted his arm to greet the oncoming group of elves.

"Nîn aran," Tauriel bowed in front of a tall figure sitting calmly on the throne and so did the rest of the group. **(My king.)**

"Tauriel, Legolas, mae g'ovannen. What news do you bring?" Thranduil's voice was deep and calm, dominant and authoritative. **(Tauriel, Legolas, welcome.)**

Legolas and Tauriel looked at each other before Legolas decided to report of the mission.

"This morning we were called by the North Guard at the Northern border, near Forest River. They claim they've sensed evil spreading not far away beyond our Realm, at the junction of the rivers Greylin and Langwell in the Vales of Anduin. They wanted us to join them immediately to either confirm or reject their suspicions."

Thranduil's icy blue eyes were gazing into his son's. "What seemed to be the issue?"

"New malice is arising, my King," Tauriel jumped in. "We've all seen it. We've all fought against it. But these creatures are strange, sprout with some kind of darkness that enables them the continuous rampant breeding."

Thranduil seemed to be concerned for a moment as he put his right hand to his chin. "I thought I ordered the nests to be destroyed not two moons past."

"We cleared the forest as ordered, my Lord. But more spiders keep coming up from the South. They are creating new nests by night and advancing towards the North by day. They are spawning in the ruins of Dol Guldur, we have later discovered. If we could kill them at their source-"

"That fortress lies beyond our borders," Thranduil cut her off rapidly. "Keep our lands clear of those foul creatures. That is your task."

"And once we drive them off, what then? Will they not spread to other lands?"

"Other lands are not my concern." The king's eyes tightened as if he tried to emphasize his point. His voice was demanding and cold. "The fortunes of the world will rise and fall. But here, in this kingdom, we will endure."

Tauriel knew she could not speak back to the King any more as she already had, so she simply nodded to herself as a sign of agreement that this conversation was now over. As the captain of the guard she did possess some special privileges, but nothing more than reporting to the King personally. Her benefits ended there.

"If that is all you bring with you, you are dismissed," said Thranduil after a while. As the group was leaving the hall, Thranduil called back for Legolas.

"Not you, Legolas."

The prince turned to his father with a reluctant expression on his face.

"What's troubling you, nîn ion?" Thranduil's voice echoed around the hall. **(What's troubling you, my son?)**

Legolas hesitated before answering his father's question. "Tauriel's right and you know it."

Thranduil sighed and nestled in his throne. He looked his son deeply and thoroughly. He was proud of what he was seeing. His mother would've been proud as well. But he needed to make sure his son knew what the realm was dealing with. The true dangers this kingdom was facing.

"Those creatures indeed bring great evil along. I do not wish my Realm to be infected with such abomination. Can I fully trust you and Tauriel to keep our lands safe?"

"I see no reason why Tauriel would seem unworthy of your trust," Legolas answered with anger in his eyes, though his father was still not pleased, judging by his stone cold look. "I know her. She fought well today. You can count on both of us and your guard to fulfil the task."

"That is settled then," Thranduil stood up from the throne and devoted one of his last cold looks to Legolas. "You are expected in the dining hall at sundown. You wouldn't want to keep the híril waiting." **(Híril = lady; in this case it is meant as a plural form)**

Thranduil seemed pleased with himself as he walked the stairs behind the throne that led to his private chambers, but Legolas did not feel the same way. He was not very fond of the she-elves living inside the castle walls. They all seemed vain, empty and flamboyant. They were graceful and fair indeed, but lacked imagination and true ardour. The only she-elf he knew of that shared the same passion about the nature, art and the universe was Tauriel, but he was certain she saw nothing more in him but her loyal companion. He gave up those futile dreams centuries ago.

Aireiel took the same rout to return home. On the way back, she managed to hunt a few rabbits for lunch. Luckily, she hadn't encountered any new elves wandering around Mirkwood nor any other creatures dwelling among these trees for that matter. While she walked the soft forest ground, she thought of the Realm. She wondered how it is like to rule such great land or at least be a part of it. Her family, among countless of others, managed to establish brief shelters in several elvish kingdoms (until they were eventually evicted from that area), and all were very dear to her heart as the memories of parts of her childhood she spent in each of them, especially memories of Rivendell. She remembered the numb babbling of waterfalls coming from the high Rivendell mountains, the morning cheep of those little blue birds she adored, the pale moonlight that shone upon high cliffs where she used to gaze into the moon and long for adventures, far away from this vicious circle she was trapped in. She then thought of her own homeland; her mother and her siblings laughing in the flowering of the spring, chasing each other around the halls and roaming the nearest forests and meadows. She couldn't hold back the tiny tear that appeared in her eye. It was overwhelming, at times, to realize that all that was once her world was now lost. Her father kept telling her she was too young to understand, too foolish to comprehend the terrors of the war. He forbid her to think about the happy times in the past, for she must focus on the future that lay ahead of them both. And they had to survive.

But sometimes, at sensitive and vulnerable times such as this, Aireiel saw no meaning in fighting for their survival when they had nothing to live for any more. All they both cared about was far away from them, past their reach. Soon, they will both be forgotten. History will become legend, legend will become a myth, as all great tales of happiness. Soon, there will be nothing her family would be remembered after. Now they had to hunt to barely make it through another couple of days.

Still, she was aware of a promise she had sworn to her father in the darkest of times. That she will make sure their line would endure. No matter what she'd have to go through, she decided this task to be her mission. Regardless of the evil she might have to face, from now on this was the only thing she needed to focus on. The key to their survival, though, was to lay low at all times and pay no attention to those rumours which surely endured as did everything that was bad and evil.

Aireiel arrived to the edge of the forest where her and her father's sanctuary was located. They've been safe at this spot for almost a century. Though they needed to keep moving every now and then to remain unseen.

"Nîn muin Aireiel," Edenir shouted as he stood to welcome his daughter back home. **(My dear Aireiel.)**

"Suilad ad, adar," she greeted him. "Here are some fresh rabbits I was able to catch this morning. They seem well-fed, they shall suffice for some time." **(Hello again, father.)**

Aireiel dropped the prey near their feet and sat by the hearth. Her worried expression was not ignored by her father's eyes which always seem to catch her sad looks.

"What is it, dear?" He held his warm hand on her shoulder. His sincere eyes gazed into Aireiel's. Aireiel could feel his glare on her, but she kept mumbling something indistinct to herself. She did not want her father to find out who she ran at in the forest. Nor the fact how far she had ran and what she had put at stake while being so reckless.

"It's nothing. Just a foolish thought," she replied in hope that would drive his curiosity away. But she was mistaken.

"I like your foolish thoughts, Aireiel."

Edenir sensed doubt and insecurity in her heart. Only a fool could see past it.

"Anything that troubles you, I am sure I can help you get through it."

"It was something in the forest that disturbs me. Something I sensed a long time ago," Aireiel finally opened up and his father's hand fell to his knees, carefully following each of Aireiel's word.

"At first, I thought it was just daft rumours, until I've sensed it with my own being. I could hear its loud breathing, foul odour, the corrupt, vile spirit hiding in the shadows. Something has infected this forest. I do not believe we will be safe here for long, adar."

That made the wise Edenir think. He stood up to walk around their small fireplace for a while until he suddenly stopped. His gaze spread far across the mountains behind them and now up to the sky.

"Does anyone else carry the same feeling? Someone you've have maybe crossed paths with?"

That made Aireiel nervous. When she was just a little girl she once talked with her sister and brother about their mighty father. They said the people who are afraid of him claimed Edenir could read minds, but they stayed with the conclusion that it was pure nonsense, since they did not come from the witch-kind kin. It was not possible for Edenir to possess such magical powers, but he sure often came close to that.

"Is there something you wish to tell me, Aireiel?" Edenir's voice grew colder once he did not get the wanted response.

"Please, father, just listen. I was just walking around the forest when... when I found myself at the Elvenking's Halls. It was unintentional and purely reckless, I swear to you, ada," her voice hurried to say something which seemed meaningless to the man standing above her with the same hazel snake eyes.

"Tell me, Aireiel, how does one 'unintentionally' wander off into the very heart of the Woodland Realm whilst casually hunting for their family's survival up in the West border?"

She knew it was time for her to remain quiet. Until she found a proper comeback, at least.

"How could you _possibly_ be so careless and run into the unknown lands of Mirkwood! You could have been seen! We could have been exposed! How could you have let so much be at stake, my dear child?"

His voice turned soft once he saw the sadness in Aireiel's eyes. He sat beside her and put his long arms around her.

"Goheno nin, adar. Im nant úpa." **(Forgive me, father. I was being** **foolish.** **)** Her voice trembled as her father pulled her closer to his heart.

"It's alright, my dear. Worry not. But we must think of a new strategy of survival. We must be ready for quite anything at this moment. We never know how far and how long this evil shall spread. Do you still know the way?" Edenir looked his daughter straight in the eyes.

"The hidden path?"

"Indeed. It is time."

At dusk, the halls in the higher parts of the underground king's residence were filled with dim and soft light coming from the floating candles that hung across the entire palace. Slow and enchanting tunes spread through the maze of halls. Scents of the late summer nature, wild herbs, and traditional old elvish cuisine crawled amongst the peaceful and graceful elves that passed the halls from time to time. The ladies were dressed in long roseate or azure robes, made of the finest brocade and silk, their dark hair was decorated with genteel headbands and circlets. Their escorts were clad in garments of the same fabric, yet the patterns and configuration of the very clothing were different.  
Of all gleaming chambers that were located at the highest parts of the cave, there was one chamber at the end of the highest hallway that shone the brightest. Right behind the corner, there was an entrance to one of the biggest royal chambers of the underground dwelling of the Wood Elves. It belonged to Prince Legolas.

Legolas stood in front of a high golden mirror, wearing only his leggings of bright blue colour that suited his long but muscular-shaped legs well. He walked around his room for a while and then again stopped in front of the mirror reflecting his image which he deemed dull this evening. His pale blonde hair was still loose and fell freely on his bare, tight shoulders. This night was supposed to be the night when he'd meet his kindred spirit in his father's eyes, but personally he deeply doubted it. Father may thought he was ready for that form of commitment, while Legolas had other things on his mind. Love was the last of them all.

Three different garments, all glamorous, lay on his enormous bed of silver silk. The fire beside it was softly crackling in the hearth, warming up Legolas's spacious chamber. It was almost time for him to head downstairs, but he was not ready yet. He was not ready for hungry looks of dishonourable she-elves who only desired him for his title. He was not ready for the deadly glances from the cream of the crop, filled with expectation and glee, and the poisonous tongues spitting yet another set of lies to welcome the evening into its usual hectic rhythm. After he heard a knock on the wall from one of his friends from the army, Adanion, he chose the blue garment sewn with silver threads that formed symmetrical ornamental embellishments, dressed up, and exited his chamber to join the party that was not going to incite without its main attraction.

"Na vedui! What held you behind for so long?" said Adanion with a smirk. **(At last!)**

"The very thought of going to this pointless festivity is making me ill," Legolas replied with a dead serious expression. His lips barely moved when he spoke and his walking pace seemed intimidating.

"Am man? Man le trasta, Legolas? **(Why?** **What is troubling you, Legolas** **?)**

"Únad. Ha na únad," Legolas replied vacantly. **(Nothing. It is nothing.)**

The answer did not please his comrade for he knew the real Legolas, and those words were not the reflection of his normally flamboyant mood.

"But tonight is your night! Savo 'lass a lalaith! After all, you have earned it." Adanion tried to cheer up Legolas by playfully punching his arm, but Legolas only gave the man a deadly look. Something was definitely off tonight. **(Have joy and laughter!)**

"Very well. I won't torture you any longer," Adanion finally said to break the silence with faigned smile on his lips to ease the tension. "But promise me one thing: please have a good time tonight. Find a she-elf to keep you company, only if for the night. Your father, king Thranduil, has made great effort to make this feast as memorable as possible and-"

Legolas stopped only meters away from the entrance to the dining halls. The festive tunes were spreading across the hallways which only put Legolas in a worse mood.

"Do not talk to me about my father and all the great things he has done. He has done nothing but intervened in my personal life and I do not see any greatness in that. If you believe so, this conversation is now drawing to a close."

Adanion was shocked. He had never seen Legolas more on edge as he did tonight. Of course, he fell silent after Legolas's threat, but deep down he knew Legolas felt guilty for what he had done. As one of rare Legolas's acquaintances, he knew something had been bothering him for the past few days, but as stubborn as he was, he wouldn't tell a soul about it. He could not degrade himself below such level of humiliation. He was a sensitive soul, though not many knew him well enough to confirm this carefully hidden side of him. His soft core lay deep inside, surrounded by a shield as strong and thick as dragon's scales. If you wanted to break in and touch his vulnerable heart, you had to wait for him to open up to you first. He was like an onion; you peeled it off one layer at a time, and sometimes you wept. But Legolas believed that exact fact was what made him such great warrior and a master archer. Nothing could get to him.

They drew near the entrance of the dining halls and Legolas could feel his pounding heart in his throat. It was not because of excitement nor thrill, but because of anger and angst. He felt contempt towards his father, and nothing could change his mind that he was nothing more than a devious man. Every good deed he had ever done was powered by some personal interest, every kind word he had ever intended to his son was to satisfy others.  
The Prince knew that deep down he possessed the strength to oblige his father by offer a smirk or two to the fair she-elves, laugh at the royal escorts' jests, and pray to the stars in peace as if nothing happened. But he refused to use this strength within him this evening. He was fed up with father's treacherous schemes of what he should do with his life. He was done pretending.

Legolas entered the dining halls through the wide opened gates alongside with his companion and suddenly all eyes were on him. To not feel the rage bursting inside him just yet, he pretended he was walking with some beautiful she-elf that everyone stared at. He had to pretend he did not hear the sound of vicious voices spreading latest rumours about him. He had to pretend that the beings around him did not have any expectations of him, assuming he would kindly fulfil them.

Adanion left Legolas's side once the latter was approaching the King's honourable place in the heart of the dining hall. He supposed something bad was to follow, so he rather stepped aside than to be a part of it; he presumed as his loyal friend he would be burdened with the duty of calming him down and force him yet again to leave the feast.

"Hîr vuin," Legolas said as he bowed to the man in front of him. **(My Lord.)**

"Dear son, welcome," Thranduil's voice spread across the halls as they fell silent due to king's speech.

Thranduil now turned to face the crowd before him. Their eyes widened as they witnessed all his mightiness in front of them. They believed in their rescuer. They poured all their faith in his leadership and protection of the Wood Elves of Mirkwood. Thranduil could not help himself but let his lips spread into a gratified smirk. He was pleased to know he had his nation eating off his spoon. Not that he ever took advantage of the situation, he rather let them create their own fate. Before he spoke again, his blue eyes glanced Legolas one last time, and then he began.

"My loved ones. We are gathered here tonight in the celebration of Mereth Nuin Giliath, to honour the Great Elentári, Rîs uin elenath who rises above us. Sad uin galad, ennas na estel. We thank you for your gift and blessing, we kneel before you." **(The Queen of** **the stars** **. Where there is light, there is hope.**

After Thranduil had said the formal words to honour the main reason of this festivity, he opened his arms towards his nation.

"Let us feast!  
Let us celebrate and unite  
in this blissful and magical night  
as we enjoy the peace!"

Uproarious applause had filled the air. The Elves were shouting the King's name and absorbed his whole essence in great awe. The screams disappeared once the tables were filled with all kinds of colourful food. The Elves started to move along in long lines and the tables were seated in no time. Legolas was the last one to take his seat which was placed next to the King.

"Tell me, Legolas, how are you enjoying this beautiful starry night?" Thranduil said with his mouth half full, while Legolas hasn't touched a bit even though the smell was tempting.

"I think you have prepared yet another night to remember, father," he replied with his teeth clenched. The only thing he thought was smart to grasp was another cup of miruvor.

The king's counsellors seemed to have agreed with him as they nodded and drank their beverage without looking at him. As they were all in admiration of their king, they also paid deep respects for his son as well. As royalty, they believed he deserved only the best. But Legolas was tired of constant luxury, small talk and meaningless discourses of war affairs. He was tired of constant presence at meaningless discussions where the wise and old friends of his father's would mostly talk about either warlike matters or the rosy-cheeked dames. One could say he was tired of his life in the Realm.

At late afternoon, when the day faded into darkness, Edenir and Aireiel walked silently along the west border of Mirkwood. They had their weapons in short range of hand just in case something unexpected would attack them. Now that Aireiel had told Edenir about something vile crawling these woods, he would not want to risk their survival once again. He believed evil would come forth again. It craved its old supremacy back.

"This way," Edenir whispered to his daughter as they entered the forest.

Not far away from the border, a secret location lay under the Mirkwood grounds. They started digging and not long after they began, they found what they've been looking for.

"Hold this." Edenir passed the shovel to Aireiel's hands as he removed the rest of the dirt with his hands. Shortly, a reflection of a dirty metal shone from the ground, covered in a sack of thin fabric. Edenir took a hold of the great weapon and observed it for a few seconds under the pure moonlight.

"Oh yes, the great Dragon Slayer. Forged by our own kin," said Edenir proudly as he wielded the weapon skilfully.

"But I've heard that-" Aireiel started but soon fell speechless as her eyes took a full sight of the ancient legendary weapon.

"I am aware of what the rumour has it or at least what is believed to be a fact. Well, I am holding the very proof to the contrary," Edenir responded with a proud smile on his face. "It was founded by your grandfather, Tamolien Nelethrin, son of king Amroth, which was kept a secret for the entire time of the existence of the kingdom, of course, when he, as the rightful king and a royal army commander, and the rest of the royal army hid in a cave in the time of the great war. There they ran into a real treasure chest full of ancient riches. White gems lay scattered, rare, raw metals covered by dirt and dust. Your grandfather saw the sword reflecting in the light of fire, but he left it where it lay still, peacefully waiting for its new wielder. He made a promise to himself that if he returned from the battle alive, he'd climb back to the cave and claim the sword. Up until the day Tamolien secretly became his new owner, the sword passed out of all knowledge for thousands of years. He searched deep and long to discover the meaning of the second orcrist and at last, he learned that the Elves of Gondolin had secretly forged another sword. One was made to kill orcs, that was its main purpose. And the other one was made to fight even greater and stronger evil that was ahead of us. It was made for the worst of times to come. It is as light as a feather, so strong it can slay up to five orcs at a time, its blade so sharp it could slice the dragon's throat. But to protect it from greedy eyes, Tomalien passed his sword to his son, to me. I was told its secret is to keep it from all the eyes and only use it in the amid of the battle, in the heart of evil, or else it would lose its magic. I was fortunate enough to only use it once, but you were too young to remember. I used it to protect you when the orcs came upon us. I wish it reputation was justifiable, but I am glad it helped me save you." His eyes glowed in a sad ray of light.

Aireiel could not believe her ears nor eyes. She was standing there, in the edge of this evil forest, witnessing thousands of years of history. Edenir's face had now changed.

"What is wrong, father?" Aireiel whispered.

"Holding it takes me back in time, that is all, my dear. It makes me feel the same wrath I felt when they took your mother and siblings. I wanted to run after them, cut them to pieces, but I knew I wouldn't be able to do it all on my own. After all, I did not belong to the army. You were standing right behind me and I realized now you were the reason for me to fight; I swore an oath to protect you. I had to let them go. I could not afford to lose you as well," Edenir said, his eyes brimming with tears.

"Mell adar nin!" Aireiel wept. **(Oh, my dear father!** **)**

She wrapped her arms around her father's broad shoulders as he leaned his head on hers. They both cried. They cried on the night of starlight when some celebrated hope and prosperity in the age of light, they grieved in the memory of their lost ones.

After the main course was over, the tables were filled with rich, healthy desserts. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla diffused as the afters were placed on the tables, enticing mixture of honey and caramel prevailed. The sound of enjoyment and laughter spread far across the hallways, the soothing Elven melodies filled the festive air. Legolas sat still in his place and ordered another cup of the alcoholic beverage.

"You have not touched yet any food tonight, Legolas. Na pân mae?" said one of the council members. **(Is everything well?)**

"I am quite alright, ni 'lassui, Erudion," Legolas replied with a kind voice, yet not moving his bright blue eyes away from the table he'd been staring at all evening. **(Thank you, Erudion.)**

"I can assure you Legolas is just weary from the action earlier. He will still fulfil his normal duty as the Prince of Mirkwood on this special night, will you not, my son?" Thranduil intervened with annoyed voice again.

Legolas barely moved his head for a centimetre, not looking his father into his eyes at all. His clothes felt tight on his chest, the twisted silver crown heavy as it rested on his forehead as if the entire hall and its content was captured in its weight. His mind was filled with vacant, yet clear images of his past. The desire to return back in time was indispensable, as it was on every social gathering he had to attend by law. All he wanted was to run away into the forest, not having to please all these people he had no connection with. It all seemed meaningless and futile.

Thranduil soon sensed the bitterness that burdened his son's soul.

"Indóme mín pedath ned said, nin ion?" Thranduil's deep voice said. **(May we speak in private,** **my** **son?** **)**

Legolas stood up and left the halls with the king by his side. The Elves sitting at their tables bowed their heads in respect of the passing royalty. As soon as Thranduil and Legolas crossed the exit, he turned to his son with burning look in his yet cold eyes.

"Whatever you are preparing for tonight, you end it here and now," his voice echoed.

"I have no plans for tonight, but since you are so fond of the idea, I might as well set something up," Legolas said flamboyantly and looked his father in his eyes for the first time tonight.

Thranduil's expression suddenly softened and that made Legolas's heart twitch a bit. It was so rare to see his father as a normal elf he was and when the occasion came, it was almost frightening.

"Please, Legolas, tell me what is burdening your heart? I do not care if it is of small importance, I am here for you. Confide yourself in me, even if it is about me – especially if it is about me. My goal is not only to be a successful king, but to be an even better father to you," his voice was low and humble.

Legolas stepped back a little bit. He felt his shield slowly melting and that was not good. He was starting to feel and emotions make you weak. The last thing he wanted was to feel puny in front of his great father.

"Ú-iston uin man ci peda," the Prince answered vaguely, his eyes wandering around the majestic cave walls. His eyes wandered everywhere but to his father's eyes. **(I do** **not know what you are talking about.)**

"Do not play foolish now, Legolas. We both know we have had certain disagreements in the past few centuries, but I do not believe we should quarrel over _that_ matter any longer. Man na ned gobennas, dartha ned gobennas." Thranduil drew near his son, but he would turn away. **(What is in the past, belongs in the past)**

"I cannot simply push away the past. I cannot ignore what had been done."

"What was done was in the name of our Realm." Thranduil's words were merciless from now on.

Legolas felt a lump in his throat as he tried to hold back the mean words rushing up. He gave one last disappointed look to his father and then started walking back to his chamber.

"Don't you dare walk away from me!" said Thranduil. "You know what needed to be done to save the Realm and that is what I did."

That made the Prince turn back to his father with rage in his eyes. "Another grudge is not the way to save the kingdom. That is not freedom, it is fear."

"What was done cannot be undone. And as you can see for yourself, we are in peace right now. The last thing I would want is another war we have to fight for no reason at all. Why would I put my people through that again?"

"Binding with the Elves on the South would be an advantage for us. In times as such, when evil is regaining its strength, the inhabitants of Middle Earth must unite and defeat the enemy jointly," Legolas said, his voice was broken and weak.

"To keep our lands clear and safe is our highest priority at the time. Other lands are not my concern and they should not be yours either." Thranduil's eyes have become cold once again.

"My kin is my concern. People at these halls right there might be blind when it comes to your greed and selfishness, but I will not forget when you rejected those helpless families from Lorien," Legolas whispered. "You know what day it is today?"

Thranduil looked at his son with bewildered eyes.

"It is the 350th anniversary of the time the people of Lorien entered our Realm in the time of despair and need. And you let them down. You turned your back to those helpless people." Legolas's voice was restrained, yet daring. He knew he was pushing the boundaries with his father here, but he had to say what has been on his mind lately. It was only fair that they have a clean and honest relationship.

"You have no right to say these things. I am the King and I will run my business as I wish. Ego! You are not welcomed here tonight anymore," Thranduil roared as Legolas already began to walk towards his chamber. **(Be gone!)**

"Di gûr," Legolas whispered to himself. **(With pleasure.)**

Even though the conversation with his father did not end well, his conscience was pleased. The unspoken words came forth again. Although Legolas knew it took time and effort to maintain this kingdom and to run it flawlessly; that is why, in some way, he understood Thranduil. He knew his father was the right one for the job. But sometimes, just sometimes, he really loathed that merciless nature of his. Although, above all, the king had a reputation to maintain, and openly showing his feelings was not helping him with doing so. Nobody wanted a lousy king, having a soft point for something, for once the word of it is spread the enemy can use it against you.

Legolas rushed back to his chambers where he undressed himself. He lay on the bed only with a thin tunic and breeches on. All this pressure was sometimes too hard for him to handle. Maybe he was royal blood, but in his spirit he was free and did not belong in those halls, locked up like a bird in a cage. He longed for the open forest. He yearned for the thick, fresh air, the smell of the oak and pines, the sound of the trees swaying in the mellow breeze. Since father did not like him slipping past the guards and vanishing into the woods in the middle of broad daylight or night for that matter, he hesitated before he stood up and dressed into his daily clothes that consisted of a knee-length, tight, dark green, velvet jacket, silver tunic underneath, brown leggings and a pair of leather boots. He picked up his bow and arrows from behind one of the high pillars and left the room.

The Prince sneaked through the corridors across his chamber and started to go south of the palace where there was a secret exit only he knew of. That'd probably be so because he invented it as a young elf. The traditional festive music was heard from across the whole palace and so was the laughter and mirth coming from the dining halls. Legolas knew it would take long time for father to return to his chambers.

It took a few minutes for him to walk all the way to the other side of the palace before he reached a secret round door behind a tapestry. He managed to slip past a few guards at the south corridor and once he took the last glance at the currently empty hallway, he sneaked through the door into the dark.

The tunnel lead behind the palace into the steep hill that ended with a silently flowing brook. Not far away at his right there were the main gates. Legolas managed to sneak out right in time before the guards would check the hallway again. He jumped and landed on the other side of the hill and the great forest now lay in front of his eyes. He smiled to himself before vanishing into the fairly warm night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again! I hope you guys enjoyed the prologue for more is to come! Thanks again to _The Enchanted Stream_ for a lovely review.  
I noticed this story has received quite an ample amount of views for which I am extremely grateful, and I encourage you to share some of your thoughts in the comments since a feedback is always welcome and much appreciated!**

Chapter 2

Once Aireiel and Edenir had finished with their dinner, they wandered off a few meters away from their shelter to observe the infinity of the starry night. They enjoyed the silence as they both shared the same memories.

"I recall a lullaby naneth used to sing to me when I could not sleep. She said it reminded her of a place she once visited. A place, she said, she hoped I would come searching for her one day." Her words were heavy, but the tears in her eyes were even heavier as they uncontrollably rushed from her eyes and slid down her bloated cheeks which was the consequence of the pain she'd been trying to suffocate. **(Naneth = Mother.)**

"Do not let bitter grief torment your young soul, hén nin. Your mother loved you deeply, more than life itself. She told me once, not long after your birth, that knowing our little aenil had started to spread her wings made her life complete," Edenir sighed. "She lived to love you." **(My child. Aenil = angel.)**

Aireiel cried in her laughter. "You are not helping to stop these tears from running, ada." **(Ada =** **father** **.)**

"Cen in elenath, Aireiel nin," Edenir's voice whispered in the night. "Cen naneth beria mín. He tirath ui." **(Look at the stars, my Aireiel.** **See mother protecting us. She will always protect us.)**

They remained silent for a few minutes. Edenir's words managed to mildly soothe her irrepressible sorrow, but the truth resounding in her head wouldn't leave her conscience be. The unexplained circumstances of her mother's and siblings' disappearance haunted her every day since the abduction, and in the silent, tender nights such as this the yearning for their embrace would invade her vulnerable soul at any possible moment. She was able to ignore the horrible memories of that day and replace them with the comforting words from her father which led her to look up to the sky. She could not believe she was looking at her naneth. A gentle voice coming from deep inside of her whispered that she and her brother and sister were alive somewhere, hidden from their knowledge and the eyes of the world for an unknown reason. Aireiel swore to herself she would not cease to believe in their survival until she saw them with her own eyes. It was the least she owed to them and the least she could do to honour their memory. When her mood appeared to had changed from a melancholic reminiscing to a boiling determination, an unexpected thought appeared in Aireiel's head. A happy thought, once for a change.

"How did you meet naneth?" she asked her father with a spark of careful liveliness in her voice.

Edenir's gaze went up to the stars above them, as if he was searching for a familiar face, a silhouette covered in the blanket made of star mist. He sighed before he spoke again.

"We met a life age ago. Long before Lorien went leaderless, though I remember that day as vividly as if it were yesterday. Your mother was one of the people I knew for the longest. And she was the most sincere, brave, kind-hearted, enthralling person I have ever met before and after. I cannot say it was love at first sight, because... Well, because at first we could not stand each other."

Edenir looked at his daughter with a flash of excitement in his eyes and a smirk upon his lips. It was a shock to see her father in such elated mood, and Aireiel responded with the same amount of rapturousness while she became more and more curious of the unveiling of the story.

"She hated you?! Oh, adar, what did you do?" Aireiel laughed in pure joy.

She could not believe that in all those years they spent parted from her mother, she did not wonder about the moment their parents set their eyes on each other for the first time. She never had the chance to hear their love story and she was positive it was the most fascinating tales she'd ever heard.

"Oh, it was a squabble over a silly, insignificant thing, but we kept on holding a grudge over it, just to irritate each other. We were at a ball the royalty had prepared. In fact, it was around this very time of the year when we first spoke. We played a game with no winner. We competed in who could insult the other more harshly without ever saying anything particularly rude. It was a game of words and patience, one could say. Throughout the game we learned a lot of things about each other and it that moment we knew we shared a lot of things in common. More than we'd expected. She was like no other," Edenir said, barely audible. "Her words cut like a blaze through my heart, but with each sentence she spoke, my love for her grew stronger. Her glow was everlasting and so radiant I felt enchanted in each moment she would honour me with her presence."

"What allowed you to gain her attention?" Aireiel said with quiet expectation in her gaze.

"It was spontaneous, I believe. It does not happen over night, as great love tales in the books suggest. It takes time and effort to get to know a person well, and to love them later on."

"What is love to you, adar?" Aireiel then spat, unaware of the weight of her words and the impact it had on her father.

Aireiel heard a deep sigh leaving Edenir's lips, but only because he was contemplating about answering the question to the best accuracy he could manage.

"Love is... Devoting your lives to each other, knowing the good and the bad sides of one another, yet loving them nonetheless. It is when the darkness rises that true love reveals itself. You either flee or face it. But if you choose the latter, you know you shan't face it alone." It was emotionally very difficult for Edenir to speak of the love for a woman that was now far, far away and who he'd most likely never see again. Aireiel could not imagine the heartache of the bond of two hearts being forcefully torn to shreds.

The elleth by his side noticed the defeat in his eyes. "Goheno nin, adar. Únen thel presta ci." **(Forgive me, father. I did not mean to** **upset** **you. Elleth = Elf-woman)**

"Do not fret, my dear. It is as painful as it is beautiful to awake the memory of your mother. But no matter how painful it may be, it'll always be worth it. She will always be worth it."

Suddenly, a shooting star passed above them, and although the air was filled with comfortable silence, they both took it as a sign. A sign that their loved one will always look out for them.

The night birds were cheeping their peaceful evening song as Legolas proceeded to deepen into the forest. He moved lightly, swiftly, and barely audibly, observing his surroundings with extreme care. Due to his adapted elvish eyes he was able to see shapes in the dark very clearly; he could distinguish the high and broad tree tops swaying in the mild, warm wind, reaching towards the lightened sky. How he missed the feeling of being one with the nature. Bonding with the nature was his escape from weary, daily routines, like a breath of fresh air of freedom. Legolas held special feelings towards this forest for it played an important role in many happy memories of his childhood. Some reached hundreds of years back into the past, yet images were clear as if it were yesterday. He could feel soft, blond locks on his back as familiar arms put him in their welcoming embrace.

"Naneth..." he uttered in the wind.

As if some spell bewitched him, he found himself at his old spot deep in the ancient parts of Mirkwood, then known as Greenwood, playing in his tree house that he claimed as his own fortress. Brand new shafts lay scattered in front of him, as young Legolas had just finished tightening his newest bow. It was long and elegant, made of the wood of the highest quality. It was probably too big for him, considering he was just a little child, but nonetheless, his bravery was admirable. He knew he was born to wield this deadly weapon.

"Legolas, tula torn o ennas! You've been hiding in this tree house whole day!" Itheliel's voice echoed across the meadow in the heart of the forest, and Legolas could feel his fingers twitch. He could not afford his mother catch him play with such dangerous weapon all on his own, let alone discover he made it himself. **(Legolas, come down from there!)**

"Tuliel, naneth!" **(Coming, mother!)**

Itheliel moved towards the tree house to escort her son back home, when a large, warm hand slid down from her neck to her left shoulder. She sighed deeply as the touch made contact with her exposed skin at the tip of her shoulders for she felt safe in those arms.

"Do you think I am blind to what he is up to? I know he has a large storage of razor-sharp shafts hidden in there. He is forgetting we have Elvish hearing and sight," she said worried.

The hand progressed with its glide and as it reached Itheliel's thorax she could feel a warm presence close to her. It filled her with a rush of electrifying goosebumps and she wondered how he still managed to make her feel this way after all these years.

"Worry not, mel-nin," deep, authoritative voice said in her ear. The owner of the voice turned her around to face him. **(Mel-nin = my love.)**

No matter for how long they have known each other, Thranduil's voice made her tremble every single time he spoke with such low and scary tone. His torso swiftly moved to her side as one of his hands held her by her waist to gently pull her closer to him and the other cupped her cheek as soft as the finest silk and as pearly white as the first winter snow falling upon the peaks and hills of Eriador.

"He will make a great warrior one day."

"That does not calm me down in any way, if that was your intention," she whispered wide-eyed.

Thranduil loved watching her defy him. She was a strong woman, that is why the will of the Gods chose her for the Queen of Greenwood. That is why she was meant to be his and his alone. No other woman could make him feel so dominant, yet humble in front of her as she was able to without even trying. The sincerity and devotion reflecting in her dark blue eyes caused shivers creep across his back. He was afraid of how much he loved her. Just as he was about to hiss something mischievous to her, a golden head appeared near his hip. He lowered his gaze, and there he was, little prince smiling at his father, the great King of Greenwood and the saver of his folk.

"Adar, adar!" the little one squeaked with a wide grin.

Thranduil's lips spread in a heart-warming smile as he took little Legolas in his strong arms. The Prince's thin, yet shiny locks were joined into beautiful long braids his mother braided every single morning before he went out to play in the forest. Legolas's cheek touched Thranduil's chin as the King lay a soft kiss upon his son's forehead.

"What have you been up to, little Prince?"

"I've finished something I've been working on almost all summer long! But..." his voice lowered. "Naneth must not find out."

A chuckle left the King's lips as he put his son back on the ground and approached his wife that had already started to draw near the halls. Legolas never left his side.

"Here you are, little one!" Itheliel kissed his blonde hair and stroke his pink cheeks. "This forest has really grown on you, hasn't it?"

It was a rhetorical question, of course, to which Legolas gladly answered.

"Yes, nanethh. I think I ought to move my chambers to the tree house," he said all cheered up. His mother's gaze fell ahead as a warm smile welcomed her lips. Her palm fell on his back and they entered the halls alongside.

The mighty royal guards started to move towards the gates as the royal family approached them crossing the stone bridge. Legolas was jumping up and down the path, trying to catch one of the small blue birds that were following them on their journey home, flying around so carelessly and freely.

Thranduil joined Itheliel's side as she merely turned her head for an inch to acknowledge his presence.

"Have you come here to confirm my theories? What has occupied his mind so much?"

Thranduil simply smirked to himself and left his wife in absolute confusion as was his irritating wont.

"It's a guy thing," he winked at her dead serious expression. Itheliel exhaled angrily, blatantly showing her obvious disagreement which went unnoticed on Thranduil's part as he appeared to be too occupied with this thoughts.

The reality sucked Legolas back in its bitterness and now he was standing at the same spot before the memory had overwhelmed him, veiled in the darkness and silence of the night. Alone.  
He stood there, barely maintaining his balance, bewildered, and feeling faint. This forest was definitely cursed. It exposed your weaknesses, made you wander off in your own mind, and succumb to the temptations of the past.

The Prince kept on walking the soft ground covered in deep green moss, still rapt in thought of what had just happened. It was surreal, feeling naneth's touch again as if she was standing right next to him, hearing her words as tender as the morning breeze, her touch as light and soft as flapping wings of a night butterfly. He could not deny that the forest exposed his greatest weakness, leaving him in a vulnerable state as if he was naked in the dark. Her piercing blue eyes kept flashing before Legolas's. Why did she have to leave him? Why did the Gods let her abandon him? Thranduil kept telling him the same thing over and over again, until the little Prince would grow tired and fall into a restless sleep, his dreams filled with images of the smiling naneth. He kept telling him he was too young to understand, that the courses and wills of nature are sometimes strange, too strange to comprehend. Deep down Legolas knew Thranduil kept the truth from him in order to keep him safe. But how could he move on when he did not know which way he was facing? How could he continue living his life in blind belief she'd left for his own good as he was told so many times? There was no reasonable explanation for that and one day the little Prince simply grew tired of asking and left his father to his own misery.  
Today, when Legolas was grown up and had confronted even the most gory sides of nature, he realised his father was simply too broken to open up about this painful subject. The wound had still not fully healed, the memories were still too fresh, despite hundreds of years had gone by. It was an experience Legolas hoped he would never have to go through.

As darkness completely enfolded the sky into its embrace, the two headed back to what had become a temporary shelter that had served them for the past few centuries.

"What happens when an elf loses their soul mate? What happens after the bond breaks?" Aireiel focused her look at her father. Although she had lived long enough to had seen enough and been through enough to make that conclusion herself, she in fact had never encountered such case in real life.

"You must understand that the bond is not some matter one takes lightly. It is a form of a higher power on the level of spirit, mind, and body. We are not meant to lose our mate by an unnatural path. The mate was born for us, chosen by the Gods themselves and only the Gods can choose the time when the two should separate. Forced departure can lead to many unexpected, dreadful consequences. Each pair of soul mates are correlated with an exceptional bond, that is why each pair experiences the consequences differently." Edenir paused carefully before continuing. "Some face the loss of their loved one with taking it out on the others, some grieve and mourn in an isolated environment, shutting themselves out of any form of life whatsoever, and the others might seem indifferent, cold and aloof about the matter. But all share one thing: heartache. Inevitable physical and mental pain caused by the absence of their other half. You see, we are one."

That almost brought Aireiel to the verge of tears. It was a comforting thing, however, knowing someone is meant for you and that you are meant for someone. It is only the matter of time when the two collide. That made the young elleth vastly anxious and tense. What if, in some bizarre scenario, she would not come across the elf she was intended for? What if the Gods had failed to notice her? She knew that probably hadn't really happened in the history of the existence of the Elves ever, but it was surely possible.

"What troubles your mind, dear?" Edenir asked quietly as if he was reading her mind right in that moment.

"Oh, nothing, ada. Just lost in my own thoughts, I guess," she said in hope that would drive his attention from her, but he knew her all too well.

"Does the concept of soul mates frighten you, my child?"

Aireiel hesitated to speak the truth, for she did not want father to worry. She was a capable warrior without, but somehow she was still a lost and abashed child within. Her sensitive nature could not slip through her well-firmed shield she had surrounded herself with, but still... Its presence made Aireiel feel weak and helpless. Perhaps it was her lack of experience that made her feel so insecure about what was written about her destiny and what prevented her from believing in it.

"I just do not want to be an outcast," she hurried. "A clouded feeling rises within my mind, whispering evil things, saying I am not enough. Tempting me to fall into the arms of self-pity and apathy, I can barely resist."

After what seemed an entire age, they finally arrived to their abode. Smoke was still rising from the hearth as they sat next to it, wrapped in some additional blankets and thin covers of rough fabric. Aireiel put her weapon down and looked at her father that had already been observing her for some time. When he looked at her dauntless daughter, he saw sparks of wilderness, blind faith, and battle readiness in her mother's hazel eyes. He could not have wished for a greater daughter than her. But by some natural law and for being her father, he feared for her. He feared for her fate and the doubt that had started to dwell within her, as she admitted. What keept most people from accomplishing what they have set their mind to is the fear of failure. It can be demolished entirely, but it took time, and his daughter had been notorious from the time she was little for being an impatient lass. It was not a necessarily bad trait, although he knew it would be considered as one in such case. Some things just took time and that seemed like an impossible thing to understand for some young, anxious elves.

"Do not fear, Aireiel. You were born to be something quite extraordinary. Life will take you to your purpose, all you need to do is trust it. Get rid of the doubts that only hinder you from achieving what you were born to be," he answered with most wise hand gesture.

"And what is that, ada?" Aireiel asked, her eyes filled with hungry hope.

Grin welcomed her father's visage. "That, my dear, is the beauty of life."

That sentence made the least sense of all the wise sentences her father had ever uttered. How could she face this beauty of life her father spoke of with full power when she was not certain what she was getting into?

 _I guess every great warrior comes across this path in their life. To face whatever atrocity is there yet to face._

"Tell me, Aireiel, what are your biggest fears?" Edenir broke the silence and the restless flow of Aireiel's tumultuous thoughts.

"Loneliness. Losing my loved ones," she counted rapidly. "Betrayal," she uttered after some time.

Edenir stroke his smooth chin, his thoughts deepening. If she wanted to be a great warrior of what she dreamed, she had to overcome those fears. He knew what an unwavering, strong soldier was made of, and he decided he could teach Aireiel the same life lessons he had once been taught by the greatest mentors he could ever wish for: Aireiel's legendary ancestor, Edenir's father.

"An elf can adapt to isolated, remote life. We are created to be one with nature, and nature is and always be our only refuge, the only friend that shall stand by you when the darkest of times shall arise. While for a human, for example, it can be rather arduous and painful to adapt to such way of life.  
As life goes on, an elf matures drastically. We accept the parts of life that are inevitable. That includes death and loss. There's no greater pain than experiencing that. I wouldn't really say we become immune to those things, for we do not shut our emotions entirely. We just let them be for a while, and then we move on, no matter how hard that path might be or how unwillingly we are prepared to embark on it. It is the only way to accept life as it is, otherwise how will you face the eternity ahead of you? Spending all the years in grief and regret? You cannot change what was done. This is the very reason elves were endowed with such gift that appears to be both a blessing and a curse. The burden of eternity that we bear is made to be born only by us, for the wisdom we obtain through the years of experience is something a lot of creatures desire but not half of them know how to control it.  
And lastly, throughout your life you shall come across people that might seem to do things in the name of good, yet are not really worthy of that word. That is when your judgement shall be at trial. That is when you must be extra cautious, for this world is full of greedy, wicked, and vile creatures whose only desire is to rule this earth. When you will meet the right people in your life, your heart shall know. Us, elves, are not so easily deceived, my dear. Always trust that gut feeling of yours. It shall never betray you."

It was heartbreaking and at the same time heart-warming to hear such supportive words from her father. Even though their bonding might seem self-evident at times, Aireiel knew this was a blessing not everyone had the privilege to exploit. Not only that her father was one of the wisest elves she knew of, he was also her guardian, her hero, and the one that had taught her everything she knew about life.

"Do you not share the same perspective, my dear?"

"Of course I do, adar. But sometimes, things are easier said than done. At least in this particular situation," she whimpered into the silence. "I have no idea where to begin. I can feel so much power within me, so much energy ready to set loose, but I am afraid it will hurt me. And I am afraid it will also hurt people close to me."

"Oh, Aria. Do not succumb to such pitiful thoughts. Not for a second you should doubt yourself and your abilities." His eyes grew wider. "Are you up for a challenge?"

Aireiel's heart skipped a beat. "What challenge, ada?"

"A thought had occurred in my mind. An effective solution to getting rid one of those fears you've mentioned."

Silence took over and their glances froze for a second. Each of them had their own thoughts they shared at that moment, but Edenir was too excited to keep quiet and to miss this exciting opportunity. It was a peaceful, cool night, no threats were sensed this afternoon even while Edenir was particularly cautious due to Aireiel's recent detections of the lurking evil. Since the role of being their protector of their clan shall be soon inherited by his daughter, he saw the opportunity even more tempting. For life was full of appealing opportunities. You simply had to seize for it.

"This forest has grown on you, has it not?"

"Yes, it really has," Aireiel replied indifferently.

"Do you trust it? Do you trust the creatures that dwell in it?"

"I have been to the darkest parts of these woods, adar. I do not fear it," elleth replied with a smile, convinced she had won, just like Edenir lead her to believe.

"But that is not of what I speak. Are you willing to go through the darkest parts of Mirkwood in the darkest hour of the night, without anyone by your side but the forces of nature? Are you willing to step into the unknown and let your senses be your only ally?"

Bewilderment filled Aireiel's eyes as her gaze moved from her father to the enormous dark shapes on their left where the border of the forest lay. Suddenly, a cunning grin appeared upon her lips.

"Do you deem me weak? Do you think I cannot handle the power of the night and its threats?"

Edenir's head bowed in respect, yet his eyes told a different story. Right now, he was allowing her to break all the rules he had appointed to her when they moved to these parts of the cursed land. He challenged her to throw herself into the night and travel beyond borders.

 _As if I haven't already defied them all._ The grin on her full lips lingered. What could have been better than to freely do what she'd always wanted to do?

"So be it," she said with powerful and strong voice, throwing the covers off her shoulders with strong determination. She picked her loyal weapons from the ground; strong bow, arrows and couple of daggers which she placed behind the belt on her hips, and smiled.

"What if I do not return until dawn?"

"I shall be peacefully waiting right here," the elf said pointing at the tent not far away.

That made a wave of anxiety flow over her body, but her stance was still and straightened. What exactly did he have in mind? Was he playing tricks on her, whether or not she was bold enough to defy her own father? The answer was obvious.

"Don't wait up," she said in laughter as Edenir waved her goodbye.

"Oh, I shan't," Edenir replied sharing the laughter.

He watched Aireiel run lightly across the high grass, her back bent and ready as if she was on prowl, vanishing into the night. His gaze did not move until darkness had swallowed Aireiel's silhouette.

Legolas entered the deepest parts of Mirkwood, strictly following the Elven Road, and observed the enormous trees with huge barks accompanying him on his spontaneous journey, their leaves turning a darker shade of scarlet red with each passing day, fading into autumn ahead. The bushes were broad, but they seemed sick, their rich green colour seemed to had faded and the branches had begun to lose more leaves with each breathe of air. Something vile had polluted this forest. Something that is yet not ready to fully reveal its true self. Evil had started to regain its strengths within this forest; it had infected the air with decay and dark magic, spilling its venomous influence far and wide. As he stumbled further, he could sense the horrid affliction that had overcome the woodland. Though Elves were more or less immune to such dark magic, being specially bonded to the forest, Legolas could feel evil stir in these places, and it grew stronger each night. There were no happy songs sung by little blue birds to be heard anymore, only silence filled with death and rot. There was no soft breeze of late summer, only poisonous air. There was no silver moonlight peeking through colourful leaves, only tranquil darkness that caused even the Prince to feel a bit on edge.

It was no further than the path they had examined earlier today with the royal guard, when he heard a crack of a stick not far away. He lifted his bow and took a close look around with narrowed eyes; even though his sight was above average, he could not notice the approaching body. It was as if his vision was slightly blurred most likely due an evil source which was not pleasant news. But what occurred next was far from his best guess of what could have lingered in the shadows.

Aireiel could feel strange presence she had never felt before, or at least not in a very long time. She knew the creature must have caught her scent by now or at least heard the crack of that unfortunate stick that had appeared in front of her out of nowhere. She realized it was much too late to flee now. The being would catch her in no time. The rest of the things it could do to her was too horrible for her to even consider.

The scent Legolas caught was rather interesting; familiar, yet peculiar in a way, as if he had sensed it a very long time ago but its purity and novelty remained in the back of his memories, convinced the scent would likely not appear twice. Yet when he sensed it in that moment, he could almost say he recognized it. It was definitely not a pack of filthy orcs, for which he was greatly thankful. He could sense the being moving carefully and skilfully – it knew this part of the forest well, which was a slight disadvantage for Legolas. Since the being did not seem to move for over a minute now, he decided to draw near the source of the scent and confront the creature that hid from his eyes.

Even though she was not much of an expert in the scent department, she knew how to hide when she did not want to be seen. Aireiel was convinced she would be able to buy herself some time with that tactics, but the foe was much faster.

"State your name and your purpose in the King Thranduil's lands, or else you shall be considered inimical to the Realm," Legolas spoke loudly, although he did not yell for he was much confused himself. The scene he was exposed to almost left him breathless. The elves stared straight into each other's eyes with the same confusion as they aligned their bows.

They were both in a state of shock, their gazes locked for a couple of intense seconds. Legolas's lips parted as his gaze flew around Aireiel's body. No, his eyes were not cheated by some spell. What he saw in front of him was an elleth, bewildered as she griped her weapon with great force.

"I do not enter this Realm hostilely," she spoke, barely controlling her voice, but still authoritatively enough to be considered intimidating by the elf opposite to her. "I must have wandered too far off the boundaries."

"Wandered off from where, if I may ask?" His voice was full of arrogance as he reattained his cold expression, fixed on the young hunter in front of him. He had to make sure he let this young creature know her place which, however, was not in Mirkwood.

"My business is my own," she replied with the same amount of arrogance as she had received.

That left the Prince in utter astonishment. A humble elleth, bold enough to object the Woodland Prince? Did she even know who he was?

"As the Prince of the Woodland Realm, which you have just entered if I may add, I-"

"I do not fear you nor your father, my Prince. I come in peace, other things are not your concern."

The more the elleth seemed to utter, the bolder her words became and more her confidence grew. To put it mildly, she left the Prince speechless. He had never encountered such a being before, and in the situations that he would come across to a creature half as arrogant as this one in front of him, the conversation would end in either serious conversation with an explicit content or a combat. But with this little enchantress Legolas found himself completely puzzled. While he knew a fair combat was out of the question, the only thing he was left with was a conversation full of deadly promises and empty threats of which he had a bitter feeling he would shamefully lose if he would event attempt at it. Instead, he decided to evaluate his bold opponent.  
The young elleth was clad in brown array that fell to the middle of her calves and consisted of dark leggings and high boots. The clothing was visibly worn out for the hems and sleeves were frayed, even occasional spots of dirt were visible on the cheap fabric. But still, when Legolas's eyes progressed to elleth's face, he saw no dirt on her skin as white as milk. Her auburn hair was braided in a weird and complex combination of long, twisted braids, but it remained modest and simple. Still, two curly locks appeared in front of her pointy ears, one on each side of her face, to uphold the traditional elvish hairstyle. A battle corset of a darker shade of brown was surrounding her waist that covered most of her torso. In an instant, Legolas knew this outfit did not belong to just any ordinary elleth. She was a trained warrior.

"This forest is dangerous. Filled with evil in all forms," Legolas said, his look wandering off to the dead nature surrounding them. His icy gaze now met Aireiel's. "If you do not intend to stay the night, I suggest you return to where you came from. Fast."

Aireiel did not expect such acrimony, although she heard the rumours of the Prince's reputation. Cold and remote. Like his father. She shouldn't have been surprised at his attitude towards her, but still a bitter disappointment dwelt inside her since their encounter was the exact opposite of what Aireiel had in mind when she'd meet the Prince for the first time, if she would ever get so lucky.

"I am here at my will. I will not leave until my mind tells me to," Aireiel replied harshly. The answer did not please Legolas and his eyes narrowed even more than they had already been.

"You must not linger. Go, while you still have my mercy."

The sentence gave much joy to the elleth as she let go of the last bit of civility she held onto for the sake of her name and released the derision bursting inside of her.

"Oh, I am at _your_ mercy now? Last time I checked this was a free land. I have my reasons to be here," Aireiel gasped. "Speaking of reasons, what is your justification for wandering these dangerous paths in the middle of the night? A Prince you may be, but all by yourself you can barely get rid of a small pack of orcs."

 _Not only a vagabond, but a defiant creature as well. Let's see what we can get out of that little vain minx._

"I have fought great creatures you have not even heard of, let alone faced. You have no right to speak of things you have little proficiency of. It is unbecoming for a lady." A mischievous grin graced his roundly shaped lips for he knew that would embarrass the warrior that had unwisely chosen to confront him.

"I am no lady," Aireiel replied, anger and pride sparkling in her eyes as she lifted her bow once again, her arrow pointed directly at Legolas's head. For a split second she was fooled by her superficial courage, but after a few seconds she realised it was nothing but mere childish bravado speaking out of her. She could only hope it was not noticed by the Prince who stood so mighty and confident not far from her, peering into her devious eyes.

"I meant no offence. Goheno nin, elleth," he bowed, his eyes fixed on hers. "Which reminds me. If I shall report to my father, I am obliged to reveal the intruder's name." **(Forgive me.)**

 _Wait and see, you boastful Prince. Wait till I get you-_

Aireiel's thoughts were interrupted by forthcoming heavy footsteps. She gave the Prince a vicious glance that screamed she blamed him for disturbing her senses, hence the unnoticed approach of yet unidentified creature. But as much as she was distracted by the Prince's arrogance, he also caught himself bewildered by the defiant little elleth's disposition. He quickly directed all his attention at his hearing and turned towards the source as the two elves pointed their bows to the being lingering in the shadows.

"Reveal thyself!" Legolas screamed into the darkness.

The elves subconsciously connected with their backs, their bows aimed at every angle and every corner. Aireiel felt a rush of irritating warmth and goosebumps over her body, especially at the spot where their backs originally touched. Her instinct told her she shouldn't be distracted by such minor detail if she wanted to prove herself as a capable warrior in front of the Prince, yet an undeniable truth disturbed her that she rather enjoyed his proximity.  
An ancient saying said, an Elf finds comfortable battling alongside another being they fully trust. Of course, that saying did not occur in Aireiel's mind at the time for she was too busy killing whatever lay in wait behind the ancient trees. The only thing she wished to focus on in that moment was to show her true capabilities, particularly now when she was driven by the motivation to prove herself to him.  
There was no sound anymore, no movement to be seen. Nothing the pair could hold onto. But one thing remained certain. They could hold onto each other.

"Stay behind me. Do not move until I order you to do so," Legolas's whispered in Aireiel's left ear. The adrenaline and readiness in his voice electrified her entire body. She only nodded in response as Legolas's head turned to his front again.

The only sound that could be heard were Aireiel's loud breaths. Although it was barely audible to a mortal, Legolas felt the tension.

"Relax, elleth." His voice turned soft which was unusual for the Prince, at least for the perception Aireiel had of him. "You have not yet fought a real beast, have you?" His head turned to her left shoulder a bit as she felt his neck move.

Aireiel was too shocked to answer. It was all happening too fast. First, she was face to face with the very Prince of Mirkwood and then all of a sudden she found herself in a fight side by side with the same Prince against an unknown opponent. It was definitely not a good start of a long winter. She almost took it as a sign, although she ceased believing in those a long time ago.

The silence confused Legolas. "Do not be afraid, dilthen maethor. We are in this together."

The soothing words appeared unreal to Aireiel. One moment they were both scornful of each other, disapproving their every move. And now he spoke to her in such way she would never expect of Legolas. His tone was warm which made Aireiel feel really uncomfortable, yet secure. Even though the Prince might have found out the truth about her fake confident attitude, she wasn't exactly unfamiliar with a bow. She'd hunted small animals before, but this was something else entirely. She was very grateful she found herself in such compromising position alongside with a great and experienced fighter. It was obvious he must have killed hundreds of vile creatures such as orcs in his time.

But all the solace evaporated once something moved again behind the shrubs. Trees were gently swaying in an ominous dance, resembling slender and mysterious dark ghosts. The movement in the distance now progressed, slowly approaching the pair.

"Tangado le," he whispered. **(Prepare yourself.)**

Suddenly, the beast revealed itself from behind a tall tree. It was a large, filthy, malevolent warg, slowly walking towards them with its intimidating stance. It resembled a wolf, but it was much larger and terrifying. Aireiel gulped at the sight of the creature as it roared lowly. Wargs were known to be quite intelligent, and Aireiel recalled from several tales that a growl like that would mean more wargs would join it side. The thought made Aireiel weak in the knees.

"Wait for it to attack first. Mín boe no brêg," another whisper arrived from behind elleth's shoulder. **(We must be quick.)**

Besides the sound the creature produced, what seemed to be a really pissed off growl, and Aireiel's rising heartbeat, there were no other sounds at all. The night was cool, tense, and danger could be sensed from afar. The beast made a small gesture with its feet, indicating the attack. Out of nowhere, another two of its kind appeared from the shadows. With the two additional creature's arrival, the first warg attacked.

"Hî!" Legolas shouted as he stepped forward to face the jumping warg. **(Now!)**

The Prince moved swiftly, elegantly avoiding the creature's deadly paws. Aireiel, on the other hand, kept staring at the other two wargs, their glowing yellow eyes locked on her. Their snouts were twitching furiously, showing off long sharp fangs from beneath. Every so often a hostile groan left their wide chest. Their backs were immense and hairy; in fact they were so big they resembled a large hump resting on their immense pile of bones and muscle tissue. Their ears were pointy, located at the back of their skull, and directed forward, towards the tiny creature below them.

Legolas shot a few arrows towards the warg, but his efforts did not stop it from running wild around the place the two elves were captured. These were no ordinary wargs, Legolas realized as he kept on driving more arrows into the creature's back. They were bred for one purpose alone. War.  
Aireiel turned her head to her companion to see if Legolas was in serious danger, but he seemed to be controlling the warg just fine, while she moved apprehensively around the area the two were captured at.

The wargs upon the little hill became aware that the first warg was beginning to struggle with the young Prince, and not in more than three seconds it fell to the floor, four additional arrows shot in its head. The two remaining wargs roared so loudly Aireiel could swear it made the ground shake beneath her feet. Suddenly, she felt a warm presence by her side and it was no other than the Prince himself. Their shoulders intuitively touched, and the young elleth tried to ignore the tingling it send down her body.

"The right one is yours and I shall take the one on the left," he said quietly enough so the wargs could not hear his words, despite their attention was focused strictly on them. He was very well aware of how those words would make the elleth beside him feel.

"I-I... Alright then," she said reluctantly after a while, hastily agreeing to his preposition since not long after the wargs attacked, not leaving her with much time to decide.

Aireiel's right hand moved with incredible speed from the arrow case and milliseconds after the arrow would already reach warg's flesh. It was hard to fight on such close distance, so Aireiel moved around the place a little bit until she got to the same hill the two wargs were watching her from earlier. She aimed three arrows directly between the warg's eyes as the said creature jumped to catch her in its paws. The arrows flew in a round curve, hit the target, and the warg fell straight on its belly. In the same moment Legolas finished off his own opponent. The pair looked around and observed the carcasses.

"More are yet to come," said Legolas, his eyes scanning the place with worried expression and a heavy breath. "We must abandon this place as soon as possible for the others will catch our scent in no time."

Despite the warnings, Aireiel stood stock-still in the same spot for over a minute now as Legolas touched the warg's head with his foot.

"These must have come from Gundabad. Though nothing comes to my mind as to why they would appear in Mirkwood. More and more ferocious creatures seem to wander these lands, this is getting out of ha-" Legolas stopped in the middle of his sentence when he saw that Aireiel had still not moved from the spot. Her gaze was locked on the warg's body below her and he could sense what burdened her soul.

"It shall pass with time," he said harshly, yet there was a trace of compassion in his voice.

"What?"

"Your conscience will grow thinner with each evil beast you will slay. It's like it becomes a part of who you are," Legolas uttered, his eyes observing the scowl on her face.

"Why do I feel as if a part of me had died along with that creature?" she muttered to herself.

"It is because small pieces of its, now demolished, soul tries to settle within your own. This malice needs a new host within the next few hours and the longer it lingers, the further it spreads. But as long as it hurts, as long as you feel you can control it, there will be no serious consequences."

The elleth's glance finally left the carcass next to her feet and met Legolas's dark blue eyes as he stepped back a little bit, only now realizing how close he had approached her.

"How do you mean 'consequences'? Is there magic involved?" Her voice was vulnerable, weak, and defenceless. The young Prince felt something twitch in his ribcage as if something tried to push him towards the oblivious elleth in front of him and commanded him to welcome her into his embrace. As if something inside him knew that would settle all the elleth's worries and calm her vulnerable soul.

"There is always deep, dark magic involved when it comes to such beings. They serve to a nameless master who pours all of his cruelty, hostility, and viciousness into his summoned servants so they spread the dark magic through the lands of this Earth, polluting whatever good there is left. It never sleeps, it never decelerates until the purpose is served."

Aireiel noticed a slight difference in Legolas's eyes. At the beginning they were icy blue, their glare cold and distant; but now they were dark blue as the deepest ocean, and Aireiel could feel something drag her towards them. Like she was deliberately falling into his eyes, like she could swim in their immense depth. The mysteriousness of his expression had not waned. As seconds went by, Legolas's thoughts became clear once again.

"We must leave. Now," he said rigorously. His body moved the other way from where the wargs came and started running lightly over the mighty roots of the ancient trees surrounding them.

"Are you coming?" His voice echoed for he was already far away, but between the branches and trees he could notice the young elleth standing in the circle of dead bodies. Her eyes now looked in his direction.

"Where am I going?"

A short pause followed and the corners of Legolas's lips slightly turned upwards as he said: "I believe you're just going to have to trust me."

"Trust you?" Aireiel laughed with teasing mockery in her voice. "After what you've said you might as well be taking me to the King himself."

"After saving your life I think I should be worthy of your respect by now, wouldn't you agree?" he responded.

They both seemed to be smiling now as Aireiel finally left the dead area. The flame of death had finally left her body, and she could breathe the free air once again. Even though she was now venturing into the unknown, her body was ready for new challenges. Especially now that she, against her own will, started to become sort of fond of this Elven Prince.


	3. Chapter 3

**Another week has passed and another chapter is up! Hope all of you romantic souls enjoyed Aireiel's and Legolas's encounter for things are about to get much darker *evil laugh*. Oh, a new little update: I've made a board on Pinterest called "The Still Of The Night" where I post pictures related to LOTR and The Hobbit which inspire me and/or are connected to the story. You can check it out some time :)**

 **Make sure you share your thoughts with me about the progress of the story!**

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Chapter 3

It must have been far past midnight already, when the two elves found themselves at an entirely different end of the forest, mostly unknown to Aireiel for she had never travelled so far from home. However, this part of the forest was not as infected as the part where they'd encountered three filthy wargs; this part endured. Somehow, the dark magic had not yet spread this far, but it was only a matter of time when it shall. Even though the only light they shared were glimmering rays of pure starlight, the trees were visibly healthier. The leaves in broad and bushy tree tops were still colourful, the branches did not look afflicted as if they carried an enormous amount of weight upon their backs, and the grass – oh especially the grass – was like a soft and fuzzy blanket covered in humid moss. There were all kinds of sounds, all sorts of melodious echoes and vibrations produced by the nocturnal beings that dwelt in these parts. In these parts, life endured.

"It is utterly refreshing hearing those beautiful sounds again, wouldn't you agree?" Aireiel said happily as she turned in circles on her toes and heels, absorbing the radiant beauty of the surrounding nature.

"Are you an admirer of the nature as well?" Legolas replied rather amazed.

"Of course. How could one be so ignorant to not notice all these little creatures and their inappreciable lives? How could one be so oblivious to what surrounds us and not realize how very little we are in this world?"

Legolas was astounded for he did not come across such gentle soul every day. Her enchanting words seemed as tender as milk and honey, the way they sounded so effortlessly poetic was beautiful as they kept reappearing in Legolas's mind. He seemed... connected to her, in some strange way. He was afraid to even think about that word, but there was no other way explaining this sensation that had overwhelmed him. Sudden wave of warmth overcame his body, putting his soul at ease, his tense posture softened against his will.

"But those little creatures you speak of do not think; they cannot defend themselves. They are vulnerable," he heard himself say exactly the contrary to what his heart was telling him. It was something about her choice of words and her voice that he would not let her stop. He could listen to her for days straight.

"Why, that very thing makes nature so special. Nature is not greedy or impatient or unkind. It is uncorrupted. Its purpose is the pure survival of these creatures and their existence is the very foundation of nature. All these organisms, hidden from our eyes, live in symbiosis that us, reasonable and intelligent beings are not familiar with. They are selfless and forgiving. That is the reason why nature endures and why the lines of mortals and other races fail to persist; it is bound in such unbreakable and infinite bond that it will stay together even when the darkest of times rise upon it. We do not possess that sort of grace in our blood nor we ever will. The best we can do is enjoy and appreciate for being a part of it," Aireiel finished.

Her melodic voice sounded as peaceful as hypnotic babbling water of a spring stream, her words flew in most profound harmony and unspeakable beauty rested on her pale face. The silence that was once disturbingly awkward now seemed comfortable and appropriate. Still, Aireiel's head turned to Legolas that stood not that far away from her, his eyes fixed on the flowing river below them. The water was so bright and magical, the flow of the current reflected in the moonlight, and Legolas could notice tiny night butterflies and other creatures chasing each other just above the water's surface. Deep, captivating violet and floating shades of azure combined into a mixture of most magical colours the nature had ever produced enchanted the Prince as he merely stood still on the rock peering a little over the river.

"Are you alright, my Prince?" he heard her utter.

"Oh, of course. And please," his eyes instantly met hers. "Call me Legolas."

Aireiel's cheeks went red when Legolas suddenly crossed all the rules of formality between royalty and ordinary elf. Some Sindarin elves in power did not only often feel superior, but also annoyed and arrogant towards the elves of lower position. It was refreshing to see the Prince feeling as comfortable in her presence as he obviously did, even though it made Aireiel feel quite nervous.

"I am Aireiel Nelethrin, daughter of Edenir Nelethrin, one of the fallen lords of Lothlorien," Aireiel spoke for she knew she would have to contend with the inconvenience sooner or later.

When she finally dared to look the Prince in the eyes, she could see bewilderment in his expression. But his face maintained its calmness and ethereal beauty.

"You are far from home, my lady," his voice was full of sincerity with a hint of atonement, but Aireiel was strangely irritated by the humility he seemed to reflect.

"I am no lady, as I've said before. If it is possible, I would like you to call me by my forename. My father and I were bereft of our titles long ago, so it would be unfair to claim it now." Even though Aireiel did not completely agree with herself with that sentence, she knew it would be wiser not to seem spiteful or bitter about something that happened ages ago. After all, she did hope to impress the Prince with the best version of herself she could be.

"I see," Legolas replied with a deep, satisfied voice. "Aireiel it is then." There was a mischievous smirk on his lips that sent shivers crawling up and down Aireiel's spine. She tried to hide her bashfulness by swiftly turning to face the river again, but Legolas noticed. He noticed the sudden clumsiness in her actions, her shallow breaths under the quickened beating of her heart, the sparks in her hazel eyes, while he was not acting entirely indifferent himself, for the nervousness got the best of him, too.

How was it possible for a single, ordinary elleth to make him so weak in the knees, so reckless in his mind? There was no denying that the elleth was surely fair in her features, witty in her choice of words, and vigour as a lady she should be, but something in her simple being made him succumb to all of her charms that had began to brutally overwhelm him one at a time.

Once he realised how much he had softened, his once dark, mysterious blue eyes turned ice cold once more.

"We should move; the longer we linger, the closer we are to the beasts."

The haste in his voice surprised her. "They will not come here." She kept her gaze fixed on the mesmerizing river. While obviously occupied with the hypnotic flow of the stream beneath them, she did not hear the approaching footsteps. Suddenly, she felt a firm grip on her forearm.

"I said we must leave. Immediately."

Aireiel was stunned by how quickly the Prince could switch his masks. One moment he was a gentle, sensitive, appreciative soul who shared the same philosophy of the world as her, yet the next second he could be the cold-blooded warrior he was trained and born to be. It scared her because she did not possess any mask of her own, feeling entirely exposed to him as to both of his masks. She was not used to having to control her emotions like that and she was not certain whether she felt possessed by his master manipulation skills (an ability he'd most likely inherited from his father) or was simply disappointed he felt the need to switch between his moods in front of her like that, or more likely _because_ of her.

Once she saw it in his eyes that he was not willing to indulge this time, she ripped her arm out of his strong grasp and delivered one of her cold looks as well.

"The hour must be late. I should return home," she said once they got on the top of the hill. The emotionless expression remained both on Aireiel's as Legolas's face.

"The wargs must have come from the Northwest. It is not safe to take the same rout, not to mention the fact that you are all alone," he replied with the same sharpness that he used before.

At first she kept on walking, not reacting to the ordinary frequency of his voice. But then it hit her.

"Oh Gods," she whispered in the dark, suddenly breathless.

"What is it?" Legolas approached, his warm hand reached for Aireiel's shoulder which intuitively avoided his touch.

"I must return home," was all she managed to utter in total shock that over came her that moment.

"What are you speaking of? It is pure folly to go all on your own. At least let me escort you."

"Do not ever come close to me. It is all your fault. You distracted me and now I must pay the price for my reckless behaviour," Aireiel cried.

"Aireiel, why are you acting so irrational?" he demanded.

The sound of Legolas speaking her name was like a fresh breath of spring to her. She stopped and closed her eyes. All of her worries, burdens and onus fell off her frail shoulders. As if sense had returned to her drowsy thoughts after being deprived of it for far too long. She turned around, finding the Prince concerned and startled on his position.

"If the wargs truly come from the Northwest, as you suggest," she spoke, "my father is in great danger."

The idea of letting his daughter out in the wild was at first amusing in Edenir's head, but the fact that she hadn't returned for nearly four hours had him exceptionally furious and disappointed at himself. How could he let the only member of his family he had left fly into the bewitched woods with nothing but few poorly made arrows to defend herself? He'd never questioned Aireiel's competence to successfully protect herself against mighty dark arts, but there were creatures that dwelt in these woods that were beyond both of them. Creatures that ran and executed depraved, evil deeds as if the very whips of their masters were behind them.

He should have known better. He should have known that Aireiel will take any opportunity she was given to prove herself a worthy fighter, no matter the fatal consequences that would follow. He should have protected her and act like a responsible father he knew was. Instead, he behaved as if he was some friend who thought it was funny to risk your life in such outrageous way.  
All along, while his mind wondered where his only child might currently be, he knew that no matter what he could think of doing to save her, would not bring her back to him. Whatever danger he put her in, whatever malice was now behind her, catching her scent, it was up to her and her abilities to save herself and to persist. To fight against the illness that had spread across these lands. The only hope he was bold enough to nurture was the aid from the Wood-Elves. He could not think any sordidly of the King, but he would swallow his pride any time if it would come to saving his daughter's life.

When the hollow voices within his mind grew stronger, he heard a sudden movement in the bushes nearby. The trees kept swaying in their spine-chilling gesture, the distant caw echoed through the thick air as if the animals sensed something impending was about to occur.

Edenir silently scampered to the camp and extinguished the tiny torches that were scattered inside the tent. With his keen eyesight he had no trouble finding what he was fervently searching for. Not long after, he removed pile of russet blankets and coverlets. Beneath the pile he found a hidden chest. It had special carvings engraved on the top brass lid that suggested whoever the owner was belonged to the special kin of the line of the Sindarin Elves. With a quick stroke of his hand he took the key that hung as an innocent looking pendant around his neck, and unlocked the broad wooden chest. A dirty tray lay inside, but what lay on the tray itself was far more precious and most importantly – what Edenir was looking for.  
The Dragon Slayer never looked more magnificent and majestic as it did now, centuries after its last combat. The great elf felt shivers skulking up his forearm and down his spine as images flashed before his eyes. Horrible, terrifying images of the bloodstained past. His fingers met the hilt of the ancient sword as the power of the mighty weapon spied in Edenir's veins. He could feel the same rage, the same weaknesses as he took a full hold of his ancestors' sword. While he was observing its length, inscriptions and ornaments started to appear at the sides of the sword. The legend said the mentioned engravings only appeared when the power of the sword had fallen into the right hands. Edenir was moved by the gilt writings that had appeared in front of his eyes. It was old, venerable kind of Elvish language only few possessed the knowledge to interpret. Once the consternation had worn off, another form of spark filled his eyes. Hostility. Retaliation. Retribution.

He exited the tent with silent, soft steps. His hands gripped the sword with great strength as anger now flew in Edenir's veins. He was ready to fight whatever evil was outside to obliterate him. He was willing to show it no mercy for he knew well enough he shall receive none.

Another swift movement was to be heard now. Edenir could distinguish the approaching foe by his best abilities: it was definitely a skilled warrior. Not a member of Uruk-hai or any orc race, for their breath was much louder and hasty, their odour recognizable and foul, their step was usually heavy. Whatever hid behind those bushes knew this place by heart, for the trees accepted it as one of their own. It was cunning, wily, and intelligent. The elf gripping the legendary sword knew this will be no ordinary fight, but rather a combat of fewer but no less deadly and strong strikes.

The gesture of Legolas's pale hand implied they should stand still for a few seconds for they needed to make sure if any wargs were settled anywhere near. Aireiel hardly held back the bitter tears at the thought of what could possibly have happened to adar as she looked ahead of her, trying to catch a glimpse of her father's lying figure. The beasts could have slaughtered him. She was aware that adar was a skilled and experienced warrior, but the wargs were intelligent and merciless beings. They attacked their target without any second thoughts and that would not mean much time for adar to properly defend himself.

"We must get there fast, what if-" Aireiel started but another gesture of the Prince hand indicated it was time to shut her mouth. His pale blond head swung left and right, trying to catch a sight of any creatures lurking in the silence. Seconds after, not a warg showed up, but, strangely, a not very hostile silhouette appeared out of the darkness. A bright ray of strange shade of blue cut the darkness and Aireiel's heart stopped.

"Adar," she whispered near Legolas that twitched at her gentle, yet emotional whisper. "Ha ná adar!" **(It is father.)**

He could have predicted what could happen next and he could have also stopped Aireiel from exposing herself in time, but something inside him held him back for he knew the elleth would pretty soon make him regret that action.

"Ada!" the elleth screamed in both joy and fear as she jumped out of the bush to ran into her father's arms. Legolas instinctively stood up from the low posture they'd both been maintaining for the past half an hour; his back was tightened, his arms in a still, tense position. He observed the intertwined figures that stood not far from him, and recognized it as the most gentle sight he had ever witnessed in a long time. His eyes were so adjusted to horrifying, gory scenes, full of hate and anger, the clash of heavy swords and mostly violent deaths that he found himself rather bewildered by this particular scene. But the sight he was witnessing now was both a challenge and relief for the young warrior. While he was observing them, he thought of his own father. Ever since Legolas's mother had faded from their lives, Thranduil showed nothing but his cold and stern nature. No mercy, no benevolence, no raw emotions. It was all a part of the plan, a political agenda he had been running his whole life as a King. Legolas eventually got used to that side of his father, he even came to believe it to be his only side.  
Thranduil successfully managed to secure his kingdom by becoming a ruthless and emotionless leader. Legolas knew these were the essential traits of a king, but all along he missed his father. He missed Thranduil's simper when he stroke his hair. The gentleness when he picked him in his arms. He was desperate for a change, yet anxious because he did not know where to begin. His heart was miserable due to the fact nothing could make his father smile with pure joy anymore. Not even his own son.

"Tolo anin naur," Edenir invited his daughter to join him near the fireplace. He lit a fire and looked at Aireiel's bewildered face. "What happened?"

It took a while for Aireiel to actually comprehend the series of events of tonight. She was enough confused with the beginning of the story herself. Should she begin with the freedom she felt when she crossed the boundaries her father had set for her? The inner peace and calmness she experienced in the intact part of Mirkwood near the river? The time she was in awe of the Mirkwood Prince? The panic and terror that had gripped her once they faced the enemy eye to eye and hand to hand?

"It is a long story," she replied simply.

"We have plenty of time left," Edenir said softly. A tear rolled down his cheek silently as he stared into his daughter. He could not express the gratitude of seeing her alive and well passionately enough so he simply gave in to his emotions.

"I... I don't know how I would've managed to survive if it were not for..." Aireiel started but her words sank into the darkness once she found out with regret that there was no one in the woods on the spot she last saw Legolas. Then suddenly, a poetic, whispering voice spoke in her mind.

" _Boe i 'waen.. Ollo vae,_ _beleg maethor. Na lû e-govaned vîn."_ **(I must leave. Sweet dreams, mighty warrior. Until the next time we meet.)**

She stood up baffled, her gaze searched the surroundings. She recognized the voice instantly.

"What is it, dear?" Edenir said as he stood up with her, his hands on the blades.

The elleth remained silent, but she knew the Prince was still hiding somewhere. Watching over her, hidden in the shadows.

 _Pff, as if I needed his surveillance,_ she hissed in her mind.

But deep down, her heart ached. She was lost without his guarding presence near her, even though she only spent a couple of hours with the Prince. Her body felt overly exhausted as if a part of her was missing. She tried to ignore the empty feeling within her by looking at her father with a contrived smile that exposed her true fatigue.

"Nothing, ada. Just the wind."

The journey back was gruelling. His limbs felt numb and heavy like his heart. He barely managed to keep his eyes open as the eyelids got heavier with each step he took. Even though it seemed like the enchantment of the woods had possessed his soul, the weariness had nothing to do with anything of that ilk. It was something else entirely that tormented his soul. Like a swift and weightless wave it overwhelmed his body, like a song of the night it filled his mind with pleasant sensations. The ground beneath his feet seemed like clouds as he swam in an endlessly deep ocean, succumbing to the mellowness of the sound and touch. It was nothing he had ever experienced before. He was not capable of clear thoughts, but he knew he was very vulnerable at that moment, and that was not helpful at all if you were wandering around the forest full of smelly, vicious wargs, like in Legolas's case.

" _Galad a glas minna_ _lí_ _cuil –_ _a_ _phada ti._ _Al gosta._ _Legolas Thranduillion, l_ _e na nodant."_ **(Light and joy enter your life. Follow them.** **Fear not. You are bound,** **Legolas, son of Thranduil.** **)**

The voice that had entered his mind was unknown to Legolas, but it spoke to him in such sweetly familiar tone. It was soft and calm; it put his aching bones at ease, it set his restless soul free, an act which by now Legolas had deemed nearly impossible to achieve. The heaviness pressing on his shoulders had vanished. The unidentified feeling he had been carrying for so long had disappeared, even though Legolas could not exactly comprehend what that feeling actually was. But whatever it was, he was glad it was gone as his worries. Suddenly, his mind was filled with warmth, serenity, and another odd sensation... as if something moved in his stomach. Without actually putting any effort into figuring out what had caused it, like he would usually do, his thoughts wandered off to other dimension. In fact, it was not really a dimension. It was something very close and familiar to him. The young elleth's face appeared in his mind and he jolted at the realistic vision he had witnessed. He was confused how often he caught himself thinking about this defiant little creature he had come across. What did all of that thinking mean? What was that whispering voice trying to say to him? Especially with that bonding thing...  
Like a fresh sunrise after a long winter, the idea had finally occurred to him. But it was near impossible. He stopped near a great oak tree as he slid down to sit near its enormous roots. There he found a sanctuary for the next couple of hours until the first beams of morning sunlight slipped through narrow cracks of the oak's tree tops.

"I do not want to hear it! I want you to find him immediately. Am I understood?" the King's voice echoed harshly across the throne room where the royal guard and its captain were gathered. Tauriel looked up to the King humbly while he was gracing her with his majestic profile. He was wearing green tunic this morning, embroidered with fine silver and gold threads that formed beautiful patterns on the sleeves and near the collar of the robe. He was wearing no crown at the occasion, for the King only just exited his royal chambers to attend this laughable matter like his son being reported missing.

"You are dismissed. Departure this instant. Follow the West rout," he turned to face the group of armed guards. "I think I know where he had fled to."

The guard started to move in synchronous motion, Tauriel following them at the back. When she reached the last step, Thranduil said with worried expression in his eyes for only Tauriel to see: "By all means, find him."

Tauriel was touched by the vulnerability in his voice. She sensed raw emotion in his eyes and she was well aware of the importance of this occasion for it was a rare opportunity seeing His Majesty revealing a softer side to his usually bitter personality. She straightened her posture and gave her King a determined look.

"Will do, hîr nin." **(My** **L** **ord).**

Thranduil lowered his head in respect and turned his cape with a swift movement of his hand. He was headed back to his chambers for he could not stand another second in this soulless place. His steps were heavy as they left the room. Maybe he was worrying more than he could afford. Maybe deep down he truly wanted Legolas back. For he could not survive losing him, too.

 _Admit it to yourself already; you deliberately left him behind. You've deliberately neglected him and now he probably wonders what he had done to do you wrong, and that is all your doing._

Guilt had overcome his thoughts like a disease. His fingertips were numb, his mouth dry and the burden he bore unbearable. He could fight in a battle this very moment and he would feel less scared. After all, that was his area of expertise. When it came to his son... He was lost for words how much he resembled his mother and it frightened Thranduil to the bones. How could he even get near him? The wall grew higher with each passing decade, with each year the silence full of unspoken words got more emphatic that things must change. He could not grieve after his wife for whole eternity. He was sure the _Elentári_ herself spoke to him in many cold, sleepless nights, whispering unintelligible words about the birth of Legolas, about the merry times of the past, about the times where he was still able to hold her in his arms. She even spoke of Itheliel. But Thranduil chose to ignore all of that. He chose to ignore all of the signs the Gods had sent him to help him come to reason with his son. The Gods were indicating it was time and he deliberately turn away from the responsibility that had now become painfully obvious and inevitable.

Thranduil approached the High hallways, a corridor reserved exclusively for the royalty. At the end, he noticed a slim figure dressed in brownish clothing, identified as one of the maids named Faelwen. She was collecting the implements that lay scattered in front of Thranduil's chamber with quick movements, probably hoping the King would linger in the throne room a bit longer which would giver her enough time to clean the chamber without being noticed. But Thranduil did not recall summoning the maids to clean his room this morning.

When the King reached the end of the hallway, he cleared his throat and at the very same moment the poor elleth dropped all of the gathered utensils which fell on the stone ground with rather loud clang. Faelwen's breath stopped as she beheld a tall, sumptuously clad figure towering above her that she could not look straight into the eyes.

"Man ceril sí? " his deep voice spoke with a shred of surpressed mockery. **(What are you doing here?)**

"I... Uh... Goheno nin, ara nin," the maid uttered in pidgin Westron with most humble tone she could manage without fainting first. "I was told... I was ordered from the main servant I am in charge of the High hallway this morning." **(Forgive me, my** **K** **ing.)**

The elleth's hands were trembling as she took a better hold of the stuff she was holding in her arms and avoided the King's gaze with her best abilities, but somehow he dragged her to him. She had pale brown hair, unusual for the Silvan folk that dwelt in these woods. She might be of low rank, yet her mysterious, unremarkable beauty at first sight to an ordinary passing elf was what had detained the King at his spot, putting the poor maid in even more barely controllable position. Once her patience had worn off, she moved passed King's frame as quickly as she managed.

"I would still like those chambers fully cleaned by this afternoon _without_ interuptions," he said with low voice. Even though it seemed like a whisper, it echoed across the great corridor and definitely reached the running maid's ear. "Simply outrageous."

The Prince lay beneath the ancient oak, wrapped in a restless sleep. Though Elves did not need regular rest to regain their strengths, a nap from time to time did not harm them either, especially after a tough emotional exertion. The ones of elf kind were physically very strong and persistent, their stamina was high above average, but exerting mentally sometimes claimed its own price, especially for a young ellon such as Legolas himself. Their emotions could be controlled to certain limits, though the path to the attainment was difficult and strenuous. One must possess great strength coming from within to reach such high level of spiritual and mental peace, while a young and dauntless as he or she might be, was not yet ready to be confused and mixed with such quickly tempting matters.  
These were dangerous waters one can encounter, and if a skilled warrior should ever give in to any form of temptations coming their way, great doom awaits them. He, who pledges himself to honourably serve his King and his lands alone, cannot let anything lead him astray. The race of men was weak in that area, unlike the graceful, wise and fair kinds of Elves who excelled at restraining themselves from mentioned lures. After all, they did have all the eternity to learn these things. **(Ellon = elf)**

But all the training they might get, the time they had at hand to prepare themselves for the upcoming inconveniences, the heart wanted what it wanted, regardless of age and race. And come what may, it will always find a way to get it. Such irresponsible thinking may cause permanent, sometimes even fatal consequences for, at the time, ignorant ellon whose judgement was entirely clouded, oblivious to what recklessness could bring. It could divert his mind from his daily obligations by thinking about petty matters such as love and other fantasies.

Legolas shook his head to empty his mind of distracting thoughts, looking all bewildered at the sleepy nature around him. Little red bugs and insects adjusted to his presence as they flew around him freely; the birds were cheeping on the high tree branches, welcoming the newborn day into the kingdom. The Prince stood up with a firm grip of his hand on his bow. He was astounded at how peaceful this forest could be, while on the other hand it can be as cruel and ghastly as the darkest hour of the night. While the West part of Mirkwood was swallowed by a dark disease, this one was still battling one of Middle Earth's fiercest battles, he could notice. He could see the forest creatures fighting for their survival by appearing each morning, singing long forgotten songs of their creator.

He admired the nature. It never bowed to anyone, it never picked sides for usually no one ever picked its to fight for. It was an indispensable part of this world that was filled with greedy individuals yearning for world domination; yet it remained pure, uncorrupted, and persistent. As much as it was a part of this world, a world where barely a few left really appreciated and cared for nature, it could never give up on it. It was an eternal part of it; it could never abandon it nor its inhabitants. It was a form of unconditional love, bound for eternity until the very last bits of this earth shall sunder.

While the fresh light pierced through the colourful leaves, another unwelcome thought crossed his mind. Unwanted indeed, but a very tempting one. He wished he could touch her hand only one more time, make her look him straight into his eyes and smile as the world would feel perfect again. Such silly emotions for a brave warrior such as himself. He was at war with his heart and his mind. One of the toughest wars an individual can ever battle. It was a war of common sense and love; which one will persist? After lust was served, was there anything left? How could he follow such blind faith, falling into the unknown abyss of desire, passion, and affliction, when there were so many consequences to consider? What shocked him the most, though, was that main part of him said he would not even care for the aftermath their bonding could summon. Would he still choose the path he knew will take over his mind and soul? A war he could not win? Would he let this fatal enchantress into his life and let her take him into her dark embrace of eternal agony, obsession, and eternal wish for more? It seemed a lovely way to spend his last years while he would crave and cry and writhe in constant yearning of the heart.  
But he was aware of the tales. A bond was not some silly relationship, one you could end on a fortnight without any bad conscience on your behalf. Oh no. The reputation of the bond and the tales themselves were not told with the purpose to be used for mockery later. Those were no bedtime stories. These were true stories that haunted the younger population of the Elven kingdom for centuries. It was not the love itself they feared nor the obstacles that might stand in the way of their love. It was the change they feared. The bond, they said, was both evil and good, filled with powerful enchantments that affected each soul differently, on its own unique way. It is born especially for the pair, and it wouldn't rest until the heart was satisfied. But the tricks of fate were quickly deceitful, often misleading the victim into thinking that all changes are for the good. The supposed truth was that if the heart did not get what it desired in time, the bond could turn into a living nightmare in an instant. A nightmare where the soul was trapped into a hostile body, prone to do vicious deeds and spread evil wherever the body set its foot for eternity. They were doomed to wander this earth without any cause for the true cause of their heart had not been fulfilled.

Legolas had concluded that this whole thing was practically a time-ticking bomb, and its destruction would not only leave fatal consequences on the surroundings, but would also leave the poor soul to aimlessly roam this earth forever. He could not have wished for a better destiny. He'd rather join a pack of smelly orcs who at least had something to fight for, than to expose his heart to such petrifying nemesis.

Suddenly, he heard a raucous stamp approaching from the distance. The group was on foot and the voices he heard took him by a shocking surprise.

"Hiro fain nass; ho tura palan. Mín boe gada núf nedh-aur. Beth en ara!" **(Search every corner; he cannot be far away now. We must find him before noon. King's orders!)**

The words belonged to none other but his faithful accomplice, Tauriel. He was glad to finally find a familiar face after a rather tough night. And besides feeling relieved and allayed, he also wanted to share everything with her that'd happened in this chaotic, convoluted series of events of last night that will remain in his memory for as long as he breathed this air.  
Legolas knew Tauriel was very skilled in finding things that wanted to remain hidden, so he prepared himself to be revealed in any moment now. He sat in the little nook he had nestled in the early hours of this morning. The world was much more beautiful from down there. He looked up, breathed the humid morning air while his sensations were filled with all kinds of scents and vibrations arising in the fragile forest. He noticed that ever since that unknown voice had appeared in his mind, his sensations grew even more sensitive, responsive, and perceptive. His reflexes became more brisk, the fingers wrapped the bow as if caressing an old lover. It was a confusing, yet welcoming change that had entered his life.

While he rested and petted his wooden bow, a sudden soft sound of a crack occupied his hearing. He turned his head a bit and pricked his ears towards the source. A few seconds later, the intruder was identified as his comrade.

"Oh, would you look at you," she smiled in relief to have found her missing friend. "Im hiri ho. Daro en faroth!" **(I have found him. Stop the search!)**

The loud stamp decreased and silence once again filled the air. It was so quiet now it seemed as if the two of them were alone in the entire forest.

Tauriel put her ornate blades behind her belt and sat next to her somber friend. "Man bragant, Legolas?" **(What happened, Legolas?)**

"I couldn't stand him anymore," he spoke softly, yet anger was bursting inside of him at the mere thought of his father. "He is still blinded by the belief what he did was right. I cannot follow such a man."

Tauriel sighed, turning her gaze at the meadows in front of her that bathed in the sweet autumn sunlight. She had thoughts on her mind she couldn't dare to utter. Legolas was one of her closest friends, but a Prince nonetheless, and she remained a plain, ordinary elleth in his presence, even though Legolas often assured her there was no need to feel inferior to him at any time. Speaking adversely towards her King would mean betrayal or even worse, being accused of plotting a potential conspiracy, in case this conversation would not remain private. She was aware of where her boundaries lay. The last thing she would want was to put her friendship with Legolas at the edge of ruin. The Prince might have felt inclined towards her, but she was absolutely sure she would receive no mercy from the King.

"Speak your mind, Tauriel," Legolas broke the awkward silence by looking Tauriel straight in her wistful eyes for the first time. "I know when something burdens your soul."

"It is nothing. I am simply glad you are alive and well, that is all," she answered with an aloof voice that didn't fool her friend.

"Do you agree with his politics?" he said simply.

Tauriel looked at him with bewildered eyes. "What do you mean?"

"It is a very simple question: do you or do you not concur with the way he controls this kingdom?"

"It is not my place to say, my Prince. I do not think-"

"Can you at least treat me as a normal ellon?" he roared. "I am tired of everyone treating me as if I am about to fall apart!"

In the end, that was exactly what he did. He crushed against the tree's trunk with his back, lifting his knees up as his bow fell on the ground. He exhaled deeply with a silent cry and tilted his head towards the sky. "I cannot take it anymore. Everything's piling up with an enormous speed. It is only a matter of time when things shall explode."

It was heartrending watching her dear friend fall to pieces right in front of her. Together, they've been through a lot of things, battled great evil alongside, fought against most dismal creatures that had roamed this earth, but it broke her every single time to see Legolas in such emotional pain. And feeling completely helpless when such situation occurred.

"I am so sorry, Legolas," she spoke with familiar warmth once again and she was rewarded with a kind look from the warrior beside her.

"It is not your fault. Something has affected my soul; some power I cannot find a way to escape. It has trapped my soul into its sharp claws. Ever since I heard that voice in my head..."

That awoke Tauriel's attention. "What voice?"

The elves looked each other for a brief moment, then Legolas's glance flew away as he refreshed the memory of the mesmeric voice.

"Warm, elegiac, remote voice entered my mind last night, whispering words in which I could not find any sense at all. As if _Elentári_ herself spoke to me. I saw visions flashing before my eyes; colourful, sublime visions of ethereal beauty, swift movements of what it seemed to be a ghost that lured me away from reality. I drifted in time amongst the stars and each second felt like a life age of the earth."

A mild breeze swirled around them, making the flowers and fallen leaves on the ground lift up in the air, up towards the sky. Tauriel looked around with her eyes narrowed, her posture tense.

"Hoda rhae, Tauriel," he said, gently touching the elleth's shoulder to settle her down. "I think it is the ghost paying us a visit again." **(Relax, Tauriel.)**

The captain of the royal guard indeed had calmed down, putting her hand off the blades. She looked at her friend on the right with a worried expression. "Why do you think the ghost visited you?"

Legolas inhaled nervously. Bringing back the memory of the brave elleth he met last night sent tingles all over his body. The thought of her light brown eyes with the shades of green that always searched around with a confused stare made him chuckle; her eccentricity got him into thinking that maybe he was destined to meet her in the late hour of that very peculiar night.

"Most unusual thing happened last night. Something I would never have predicted," he uttered in the wind.

"Did you come across the pack of Giant spiders again, the ones we've caught the day before? Or was it something else entirely?" Tauriel seemed worried, which caused Legolas to grin.

"Something as beautiful as the dawn and at the same time as dangerous as the rumble of the wildest seas existing on Arda," he stopped to look Tauriel and smiled generously as if all of the bitterness from earlier had disappeared. "An elleth."

The pair woke up into a beautiful morning; officially the last day of summer. Soft sunshine shone on their camp as everything around them started to embrace the new day. With each passing year, they could feel the void in their hearts, with each passing summer they could sense that the end was approaching. In any form it may come. They could feel hope shrinking, like leaves on a tree. Soon, there would be no leaves left. Soon, they shall end up with nothing. And nothing shall remain.

"Bain aur, mell Aireiel," Edenir said when he entered Aireiel's tiny tent. "It is a wonderful morning. Why don't you come outside and see for yourself?" **(Good morning, dear Aireiel.** **)**

Getting his daughter out of bed at rare mornings like this one was one of the toughest tasks of being a father, though he tried his best; as a father should.  
Aireiel's tent was in faded carmine colour, rather ragged and loose, but it provided all the comfort she needed. They got used to life of simplicity and humbleness for those were the main values in both of their upbringings. They did not mind the occasional stains or dirt; these things were temporary. Through the years, it wasn't so hard not to get too attached to material things, because they have lived through enough to know well enough that nothing in life, except death, is certain. And they have seen far too much of it already.

"We can go to the stream up into the hills," he tried again, this time with a contrived tempting voice, but nothing seemed to be effective. All he received in return was another loud snort.

"Oh, for Eru's sake," he muttered to himself as he headed back to his tent and did not return until he found a basket full of deliciously smelling berries of late autumn: shiny cranberries, succulent brambles, tasteful blueberries, and fresh red currant. Since he could not sleep a wink last night, he decided to pick the forest fruit early in the morning, at the very first ray of sunlight come peeking from behind the great milky mountains.

He drew near Aireiel's resting place and put the full basket beside it. Now it was only a matter of seconds she would catch the sweet smell of the collected berries and spring from her bed. Indeed, in not more than a minute, her senses started to come to life again; her nostrils moving a little towards the source of this sweet, sinful scent, her eyes wrinkling as if she was having a bad dream.

At last, her eyes opened widely with surprise. "Ada?"

"Well, hello there," Edenir grinned at her lovely confused face. "Slept well?"

"Haven't slept that good in decades. Literally," she answered and laughed, her eyes suddenly on the magical basket full of forest wonders. "Le fael." **(Thank you.)**

Edenir lowered his head with a wide smile on his face. It was a refreshing joy seeing his daughter with eyes so full of life, smile as bright as the sunlight, her laughter more sincere as ever. He knew something life-changing had happened last night, something that had caused a great twist of fate in her life. He could sense it. But he was willing to give Aireiel all the time she needed to eventually speak her heart and confide in him what exactly was it that had left such great mark on her. He had never seen such light coming from her hazel eyes as he did right that moment. She might not acknowledge it herself just yet, but it was obvious to all around her.

"Can we go see the stream, ada?" she said with her mouth filled with fruit. "It is mesmerizing in this time of year."

As soon as Aireiel finished stuffing her mouth with berries, she put her boots back on, as well as her blades and bow, and stepped outside. The dazzling light burned her eyes as she circled around the hearth in the middle of a wide meadow.

"Such beautiful morning," she whispered into the wind with her palm shielding her eyes from the piercing sunlight. She could see the high rising mountains ahead of her, cutting through the cloudless blue sky. "Perfect for adventures."

All along she kept her endearing smile, her bow in a hand, and a brisk step. She called out for her father before she vanished into the shades of tall oaks and pines.

"Do not stray too far into the woods, my dear!" Edenir shouted right in time before she'd be out of his reach. "I can hardly keep up with your swift feet!"

"Fret not, father," she shouted back at him, lingering in a steady position few meters ahead. "I shall meet you at the peak!"

And in a swift movement of her frame, her auburn hair whirled in the air as she flew off into the heart of the forest. Aireiel scampered softly around the forest ground, her breath balanced, her eyes flying from one corner to another in hope they would catch sight of what her heart truly wanted to find. Maybe she did use the trip to the high streams as an excuse to feel Mirkwood in her heart once again, tasting its humid air and scent, for she was not certain when she would be allowed to enter it again with her father's full and voluntary permission after the recent misunderstanding. Maybe she did use the trip as an excuse to search for someone her heart craved with utmost zest and desire. But she was throwing herself into unknown. She did not know for sure whether or not she would, in fact, see the Prince again as he promised, but something told her she must keep running, as if it was her life on the line. Something pushed her forward to make yet another step until she could hear her father approach.

"Aireiel, derio!" Edenir shouted as he barely kept up with her fast daughter. **(Aireiel, slow down!)**

The elleth suddenly twitched in harsh realization how far she'd wandered off. She waited for her father to appear next to her as they both stared into the solitary thickets in front of them. Old and weary trees bended their branches towards the ground, leaves flying off them and swirling in the air into small vortexes. They'd entered the South part of Mirkwood, where evil had originally planted its roots. They came to the source of the menace that had been bereaving this forest of vitality and vivacity for far too long. Decay, abomination, and rancour dwelt in these parts; the Elves sensed it more than ever before. It was a perilous place to linger, yet they both locked their glares as if they were under some enchantment. Even though it appeared that the malevolence, that had taken over the forest, took them both as prisoners as well, the pair was more than well aware of their surroundings. It was simply a heartbreaking sight to witness, a sight that left them helpless and defenceless.

"Should we go further?" Aireiel's voice echoed through the deserted forest.

"Are you completely out of your mind?" Her father turned to her, indignation reflecting in his eyes. "Absolutely not."

"Nothing is going on here anyway," the elleth said defiantly, in the move for making the next step, but her father's hand caught hers before she could move.

"Do you have _any_ idea what dwells in the South?" His lips formed a thin, pale line. "Im borant, Aireiel." **(I thought I could trust you, Aireiel.)**

Aireiel was alarmed by how solemn Edenir's voice grew. He seemed afraid, and when father was frightened by something, it would mean death for her. But she was not a little elleth anymore. How would she develop and be ready one day to properly defend both of them as a real warrior if she would continue to turn away from the brutal reality of life? How would she be ready to fight for survival when she could not even face the enemy? She had tasted that same fear and feebleness in her bones not that long ago, and she hated feeling so weak. Aireiel was determined she would not give in that easily. She was willing to fight. For both of them. For their long forgotten family name.

"I am not afraid, ada."

"I do not doubt your eagerness and courage. But there are creatures out there, creatures so foul and evil you cannot defeat. Not with both of our strengths we could do it," he stopped suddenly. "We are alone, nin iell. I do not own the strength I used to, my sword feels heavy in my trembling hands. It is not that I have no hope left, exactly the contrary. I have a lot of hope left: a hope for _our_ survival. And to achieve that, we must avoid evil in all ways. Sometimes I feel anger and rage and wrath bursting in my veins also, but then it comes to me that I have the only thing that is worth dying for right beside me, and that is enough." **(Iell = daughter.)**

"But we can fight this evil to secure our survival!" Aireiel shouted with tears in her eyes. "Are we not a part of this world? Are you going to just watch as it crumbles?"

"We've ceased to be a part of this world a long time ago, Aria," father answered plainly. There was no regret in his eyes nor qualm. Only cold truth. "I will not risk my only child's life as my own to fight something that is beyond me. We must adjust. We have no choice, my dear."

Aireiel gave her father a murderous look until he freed her hand. "I refuse to accept this."

The elleth started walking along the green path until the mightiness of the forest had swallowed her figure. How dare he give up? Her father, once a great hero and warrior now defeated? Mortified by an invisible force? Crushed by the weight of the world he had once borne on his own shoulders? No, she refused to believe that.

The more she deepened into the thicket, the denser and murkier it grew. Aireiel did not sense any animals happily rambling around; no fluffy rabbits peeking from behind the large tree trunks or the chipper birds from above. It sent shivers down her spine when she realized with horror that the darkness had drained all life out of this particular part of the forest. As if life had never existed here. How shocking it was to witness how easily history could be erased from the face of time, how effortlessly evil could crush the good like it did not fight back at all. In fact, the theory that had emerged in Aireiel's thoughts did not lie far from the truth. Who did this old and once mighty forest had left to fight for it? Who would step on the side of the weak? Sadly, Aireiel knew the answer to that question all too well. No one was willing to fight on the side of good anymore. For all the great kings and lords cared for these days was to successfully maintain their own dominion and sovereignty, to secure their kin and folk. But what they had failed to see was that the only way their kingdom and realms should survive is to liaise with nature. Their only true friend and ally.

Aireiel remembered the wise words her father had told her not long ago; how he worshipped and nurtured the symbiosis between an Elf and nature. The young elleth began to realize that these values started to wear off – everything her kin wanted most at the moment was to keep away from troubles shared by all folks of Middle Earth. Naturally, Aireiel could not blame them for wanting a peacefully reign for their folk. But on the other hand she could not understand how they could live in the seeming peace they'd created for themselves when there was something obviously wrong with the environment surrounding them. How could they live with their consciences of being so oblivious and ignorant of the rest of the world that was falling apart right in front of their noses?

Surely, the worst had yet not even begun, but the battle was becoming more and more obvious and inevitable in Aireiel's eyes. And she was certain she was not the only one sensing the changes that had entered these woods. After all, the Sindarin Elves were very much connected with nature, though some could grow blind and become emotionless, even stolid about current situations very easily. Aireiel, however, could not force herself to feel the exact opposite of what her heart told her.

As the shadows grew thicker and wider along the way, she could not stop her thoughts from wandering back to the handsome Prince. A wave of warmth overwhelmed her body at the thought of his proximity. Unintentionally, she even caught herself blushing. How was it possible that a living elf could leave her so... unprepared? How could one set her ferocious heart on fire with nothing but a simple gesture or a brief, thoughtless glance? There was more to it, it must have been. Though he was the only handsome elf under the age of 5,000 that she had set her eyes on in the last few decades.

After some time wandering around the forest, she heard footsteps approaching with haste from behind. They were heavy and definitely speeding up. Aireiel turned around to find her father catching up with worried, yet soft expression on his face that he wore so many times, causing his forehead to wrinkle.

Once he reached her side, he breathed: "My dear, I could not bear to leave you all to yourself in this cruel forest. If you are to trace and face the enemy, I will be by your side. Always."

"Ada, I do not fear whatever lies ahead," she said after contemplating his words. "Even if there is no one left willing to fight with me for all the good that is still present in this world, I shall stay true to my heart. And no one can take that away from me."

The only thing Edenir was left to do was to let out a sigh with a sad glimmering light in his eyes, before they took off into the unknown. Alongside, they kept their eyes wide open as they entered the sinister copse. Vague, elusive voices spread through the ominous breeze, accompanying their heavy footsteps. Those were the voices of lost, damned souls from far away that had been doomed by the evil spirits of whatever malice residing here. Horrible, ghastly stories refreshed Edenir's mind; stories of which everyone was forbidden to ever speak about, yet it was known. Once elegant, majestic elves captured by the hand of Morgoth, the First Dark Lord – they were humiliated, tormented, and mutilated to the point where all of the good that had remained was drained out of them. Corrupted by slow acts of cruelty, they would soon become unrecognisable – their faces would turn monstrous, their eyes would grow feral, their souls debased to the level beyond recognition. Now, their poor and restless souls kept a vigil over this forlorn forest that was now completely blighted by the morbid sickness.

The two were now moving abreast the great Anduin river; their exact location was far down south the Rhovanion, moving dangerously close to one of the most perilous, seemingly abandoned strongholds, Dol Guldur. They had not realized how long they had been straying Mirkwood until the sky above them was covered in endlessly long grey blanket of heavy clouds.

"It must be far past noon," Aireiel said after long period of silence.

"It is hard to say," Edenir replied, looking up. "The sky is changing. So is the climate. Something fierce and vicious approaches."

Continuing along the path, the thickets suddenly started to dilute. High brackens and shrubs had disappeared; a narrow clearing emerged ahead of the two elves that were curiously gazing at the formed path in the middle of the high grass. It was clear someone had used the same rout not long ago and very frequently so.

"Dartha tovon," Edenir mouthed. When he reached Aireiel's side with soft steps he whispered, "something lingers here. We must be extremely careful." **(Stay low.)**

The sky above them roared as sudden spine-chilling gust swam across the high grass. Leafless trees yielded to the strong, dominant wind that beat their skinny branches with an enormous strength. The clouds above moved irately and swirled, mixed colours of darkest shades of blue colliding, resembling deadly waves in a merciless storm. The pair of the demure elves caught themselves in the middle of a great summoning of invisible powers, dark and relentless forces, ones that each inhabitant of any Middle Earth region should pray to never witness to unite.

Aireiel was aghast at the mighty forces she was sensing; she was befuddled, frightened to the bones and excited, all at the same time. The elleth was in awe of the immensity she was observing, while her father was not in any way impressed nor satisfied with how the situation was unfolding.

"We should return!" he shouted to barely drown out the growing wind. "It is too dangerous!"

Aireiel could not even respond to her father's warnings as she found her limbs stuck in the position as glued to the ground; not when there was so much beauty and power to behold.

"Aria! Look at me!" Edenir cried, shaking her shoulders. At last, his daughter looked at him with her eyes completely calm, reflecting with mysterious energy. "We must leave!"

"Can't you see that fate has brought us here? This is the only place we are meant to be right now. If you wish to leave, I shall let you go. I can feel this is where my destiny lies."

Maybe the sickness had overcome her thoughts, maybe the undying desire for revenge had stolen her soul at last, but whatever the true cause might have been, the only thing Edenir saw in her daughter's eyes was pure madness. This was not the Aireiel he knew. Or perhaps he did not know her at all. Perhaps she was hiding her dire need for revenge so well he did not even notice the darkness arising in her soul. Her eyes were radiating with a deep shade of green he had never seen before. Darkness had entered and poisoned her pure mind. What had he done? He had driven his daughter in her death. And now she was giving him an opportunity to let her go without a trace of hesitation.

"I could never leave your side, you know that," he muttered, even though the blow of the wind did not wane. His tired hands still rested on her shoulders. "Please, do not make me beg."

"If this is the force I have to conquer and defeat to bring them back, so be it," she yelled. "There is nothing left for me to do. I have chosen this path and I am not backing off."

Her words made no sense; it was the sickness that was speaking instead of her. The increasing force had possessed her soul and deceived her mind. Edenir was left with no hope, his hands fell freely to his side as Aireiel dragged her shoulders out of their grip.  
So this was her plan all along. All these years she'd been hiding in Mirkwood at all times, from dawn to dusk, preparing herself for the greatest battle of her short life. This was not the destiny Edenir had in mind for his daughter nor he would let it come true. But when he stood there in the middle of a hurricane surrounding him, with not a tiny piece of hope left, he sensed something inside him. It was death. His heart and soul slowly decayed like an old tree being chopped. He felt his faith die in his hands as tears filled his eyes. He felt responsible for what Aireiel was defending, but at the same time he could not fathom how could she do that to her own father? Bereaving him of the only thing he had left – her presence. Could he bear such pain on his conscience? Could he live with such sorrow of knowing her daughter's sacrifice and survival had been in vain?

"I do not allow it!" he cried. "I will not let you do something I should have done years ago. It is not your burden to bear. Please, forgive me."

Aireiel knew she should have felt something in that moment her father was falling apart in front of her. But there was nothing. Not a bit of remorse floating over her conscience, not a tad of pain dwelling in her chest. The more her father begged her not to go, the more her heart grew colder. The more the haunting voice spread in her mind.

 _Leave him. He is nothing more than an old, fragile man, begging for your forgiveness he should not receive. Here lies your true destiny. You were born for this moment._

In that instant, she let out a disappointed sigh and stepped out of the thicket they had been hiding in. Slowly, she captured the countryside that surrounded this miserable, deserted place: there was no life whatsoever to speak of. The soil was covered in dry dirt and burned grass. No animals were to be seen or heard. Besides the wailing of the wind, there was no other sound. The force dragged her closer to the ruins at the hill, away from her father's screams.

"Aria! Aria!" Edenir cried, mad from mixed emotions that swam through his veins, and most of all: devastated of what had become of his dear daughter. Tears burned his cheeks as his vision started to blur along with Aireiel's distant figure. All he could do was fall to his knees on the cold, hard ground, his heavy head crashing into his hands while cursing at the Gods. Was this the life he deserved? After all the pain they both had lived through? That very moment was when Edenir Nelethrin, first of his name and one of the Forgotten Lords of Lothlorien, had forsaken his creed he had been clinging onto so far. This was the moment of utmost despair, devastation, and ruin that had ever entered Edenir's life.

Yet Aireiel's feet kept dragging her through the shaped path through the grass, ignoring her father's cries. She found herself walking straight up to the hill where the ruins were located. Whispers, dark shadows and silhouettes skulked behind the half-demolished pillars of the Dol Guldur fortress. Uncanny words swam through the air and sent chills down Aireiel's spine. Suddenly, the whispers got unbearably loud inside her head and in not more than a second, she felt pressure and pain within her chest cutting through her skin. Her screams, no matter how loud, could not replace the pain the force was causing her. But not long after, the nuisance diminished. She could feel her lungs take in the not-so-fresh air with full strength again, though she felt some sort of ill weakness in her limbs, as if she was about to faint. Every single moment of the past few minutes got back to her. Every word, every cry, every desperate touch.

"Ada?" she turned around in hope to see a familiar face, though she found nothing but pale rubble surrounding her.

"Na jundaut. Vogal uruk, hu-nasundog mabaj, Fha Par-vadokunaur!" **(At last. The little warrior, coming to defy me, the Great Necromancer!)**

Aireiel froze in the spot. For some reason, she completely forgot to breathe as she took a sight of the prowling silhouette. She did not recognize the voice nor she understood a word the floating shadow spoke. Her usual flushing cheeks were now pale and salty from the bitter tears she had shed when she was suffering the agony from before. The only thing she was able to move were her arms, now equipped with sharp blades in her hands, and her hips that swayed from left to right to get a look of the place she'd been dragged to. Due to the panic that was overwhelming her body, she failed to notice the approaching shadow in front of her, slowly gaining an eerie shape of a lean creature with broad shoulders.

Just when it reached Aireiel's side, wrapping her body with its cold, it whispered in her ear: "Have you strayed too far from your abode, you mewing elfling?"

And the last thing Aireiel remembered was a vindictive laugh of the faceless creature, filled with the screams for her father.


	4. Chapter 4

**Rejoyce fellow fans, a new chapter is up! Oh, what a lovely day (Yes, that was taken from Mad Max on purpose). I must first apologize for the late update, but I am afraid more and more of those will follow due to the school work I have to focus on (it is, however, junior year). Despite my rude habit, I hope you still find the story interesting and gripping, the relations realistic, and events thrilling!**

 **Thanks to anon for encouraging words!**

 **Now off we go to other dimension! Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 4

Aireiel Nelethrin woke up in the arms of her crying father, finding herself in a pool of her own blood. At first, naked and instinctive panic flushed her body, but her father kept her from straining herself.

"You should rest, my dear," his voice echoed and it was the only thing Aireiel could sense at the moment.

Her senses were blocked, weakened, making her unable to orient in the unknown environment. She felt her father's hands gently caressing the area around her waist over the bleeding wound when suddenly the old familiar burning pain returned, coming from the spot her father's hands were covering. She softly whined, yet the pain quickly disappeared – faster than the last time she encountered it. At last, she was able to fully open her hazel eyes to find herself in a very disturbing state. Her legs, which she could not feel, seemed twisted in an impossible angle which put the wounded warrior in a very uncomfortable position.

"Ada?" she whimpered, feeling each bone in her body cracking. It was difficult and physically very challenging to even breathe, but she had no other choice. "What... What happened?"

"Do not torture yourself now, nin iell," he spoke with a soft voice she missed so much. "It is not yet time."

Hundreds of questions emerged inside her mind, making her extremely anxious and tense, but her body forbid her any sudden movements. Forming a thin line of her lips, she reluctantly settled back in her father's arms and closed her eyes. By Gods, what happened? It all seemed like an ill dream, though the pain all over her body was proving her otherwise. She looked at her rough hands; smudged with blood and stone sand. The sleeves of her garment were torn, exposing her bruised arms. Everywhere she looked there was either destruction or faded landscape, covered in enigmatic mist. Even though the surroundings were not very soothing, her father's arms were all she needed at that moment.

"Tell me... Everything. I need to... know," she hardly audibly uttered when Edenir took her closer to his heart.

"Oh, my dear child," he whispered, his eyes observing the demolished debris as the aftermath of the recent combat. "I would rather not speak of that horrible event just yet."

The elleth only just now realized how severely her father had been shaken by the unspoken event. She realized she had to give him enough time to find a suitable moment when he would be emotionally ready to even decently comprehend about what happened. For when Edenir shall utter what he had to say, the discovery will change both of their lives forever.

"By Eru, at last!" the King's voice roared across the throne room when he heard the guard marching up the stairs. "We shall have a very private conversation about the recent events, gwein dír!" **(Young man!)**

Despite father's fuming tone, Legolas seemed immune to his sullen mood this morning. Not only that his father's words sounded complete rubbish to his ears, he even wore a tiny, self-satisfied grin on his face that pissed off Thranduil even more.

"In your room, at once!" he yelled standing up, though no matter how harsh and tyrannical he wanted to appear, nothing could get to Legolas today. His spirit was indomitable.

With his proud stance he walked off past the grinning guards and turned to the east stairway that led to the High Hallways where the royal chambers were located. Thranduil nestled back in his padded throne and dismissed the guards while detaining the captain in the room. After the room went silent, he turned his cold gaze towards the elleth in front of him.

"Where was he found?"

"On the West Route, as Your majesty wisely suggested," Tauriel replied humbly while staring at her King's feet, remembering the conversation she had earlier with her friend. She was not always nervous around Thranduil, but the burden that Legolas had shared with her somehow troubled her conscience more than she had allowed herself.

"And what was the poor idiot doing there?" he uttered with a reluctant, impudent voice while his left hand, impeccably decorated with all sorts of rainbow-coloured gems impatiently swung off the throne's handle.

"I... He said he wanted to escape the growing pressure, my Lord, nothing more." The tension in her answer was blatant.

Although Tauriel's gaze was directed elsewhere, she could sense his growing smirk she loathed so deeply. "Nothing more, you say?"

Being the Captain of the Royal Guard was not always an easy task, and sometimes it required a ridiculous amount of preposterous skills such as whether or not the King was speaking in extremely blatant sarcasm and clearly enjoyed making fun of the poor servant or was he simply being completely oblivious to previous conversation. Those were the moments when Tauriel was put in an impossible position, relying only on her pitiably developed social skills to talk her way out of such onerous situations.

"Like I said, my Lord," Tauriel looked up. "Nothing else."

"Most fascinating..." Thranduil hummed to himself, scrubbing his chin, leaving the poor elleth to herself while standing helplessly in the throne room. Only after a few seconds did the King realize she was still present. "Oh, of course – how silly of me – if that is all, you are dismissed, Tauriel."

"My King," she bowed respectfully and fled the room at last. What an awful experience.

A long while after Tauriel had already left, the King sat in his throne with an apprehensive expression on his pale, youthful face. With crossed legs and his right elbow resting on the top leg, he spent the passing time contemplating, deducing, and thoroughly resolving what seemed to be a quaint puzzle that sprung in his mind. Even though he had his differences with his only son, he knew him and his customs well enough to reckon this 'sleepover in the nature' of his was not all that innocent. It was something else entirely that encumbered his usually so chary, watchful soul. And that, he promised to himself, he had to come to the bottom of before it was too late.

He appeared to be pondering deeply when suddenly light footsteps emerged, coming from one of the west hallways. The sound revived him from his endlessly deep thoughts of possibilities, contingency and of what fate would bring in the near future. His conscience was getting fidgety from the unanswered questions, but right now his attention needed to be redirected to other matters.

"My King," a voice said before the body, clad in forest brown garment, appeared. A couple of seconds later, the owner of the voice jumped in front of the ruler. Maerrond, one of the King's council newest members (currently he was merely an apprentice, only later would it come to the Sages' knowledge what they could use the lad for) glided to the throne, clearly panting with an awfully pale face. Maerrond was rather short for an elf, especially when he had a prominent blood flowing through his veins. His features were gaunt, though his big brown eyes, piercing into Thranduil's with flashes of awe and alacrity, reflected sincerity and candour. "The Council requires Your presence."

To King's great disappointment, the matter the young elf was carrying was not what he had hoped for, although he did not know what he was hoping for either. Perhaps something more thrilling than attending a meeting of a boring assembly of decrepit, grating members of the oldest persisting Silvan families, called the Ten of Sages.

With tired eyes he glanced to the messenger. "Cannot these dull matters be procrastinated to some other, less dreary day as it is today?"

"I'm afraid not, my Lord. And if I may say so myself," Maerrond began, "these matters are not as dull as Your highness presumes. It has spread growing fear amongst the members of the council as the noblemen."

"What are you suggesting?" Thranduil asked with an alarmed tone.

Maerrond stepped back for a few meters in respect and spread his skinny arms, indicating the way towards the west wing of the underground palace. "Please, let me escort you, my Lord. The Sages are expecting you."

Penetrating there is no way he could avoid this one, Thranduil stood up from the giant throne with a reluctant expression. While walking down the stairs leading to the ruler's rightful position, he embraced himself with his grand cape to even more so express his hesitant mood. Maerrond lowered his head as the King passed by for it was impolite of an elf that was inferior to the King to walk before His Majesty. With eyes wide open, Maerrond stroke out in Thranduil's direction with a balanced pace once the distance between them was appropriate.

They ambled around the west corridors, known as the Corridors of Prophecy. Generally, the main halls, located at the end of the corridors, belonged to the Sages who usually exploited them in order to run meetings such as this, to copy important manuscripts or to preserve ancient relics, to pray in given peace to the Gods or to discuss petty matters that required presence of only a few members of the council while others rested in their chambers in the upper floors. The corridor in which the two were currently located, was decorated with paintings of various significant Silvan and Sindar warriors, generals, and leaders. What seemed magical about the corridor was that it was graced with either the beams of sunlight during the day or the light of the silver moon later in the evenings at all times, conjuring such heavenly view it was hard to believe it to be earthly. The sound of their gait resonated across the posh marble floor of the luminous hallway and echoed all the way through the centre of the Hall of the Ten of Sages, named after the assembly of the wisest elves of Mirkwood. The corridor ended with a wide arcade, welcoming the passenger underneath into the spacious hall with an apse reaching towards the sky, being the main provider of the light coming into the grand hall. In the middle of the consecrated place there was a long, narrow wooden table where nine dark-haired elves sat, each with piles of tomes, deeds, and documents scattered in front of them across the entire table. There were only three slim candles placed in ivory candlesticks decorated with elaborated patterns of traditional embellishments to provide better vision of the old calligraphies for the tired eyes of the old elves.

The previously muttering and grumbling nine heads now curiously turned to the King at the entrance who was scanning the place with his cunning, mistrustful pair of eyes. With Maerrond behind him, who summoned the great King, he approached the table with his proud stance and with a slight gesture of his pale hand greeted the gathered Sages. Not often did the King honour the council with his presence due to various, most amusing excuses he could think of at the time. But this day was different. Once they all took a full, well look of their leader, they collected their notes and diffidently withdrew from their seats to welcome the King.

"Mae l'ovannen, nin ara," spoke the main adherent, Calaron crossing the right arm to his heart then stretching it back to the mighty elf in front of him. **(You are most welcome, my King.)**

With his words, all members bowed their heads in respect before looking up to the great ruler. Thranduil floated to the chair at the head of the table reserved for him with absolute grace and divinity while others took a seat of their own. The meeting began with a few formal words from Calaron, known as the First of the Sages, in both Silvan and Sindarin language in respect and veneration of both cultures. Despite spending millenniums on this earth, thus gaining thousands of valuable warlike, political, and life experiences, great strength of his tireless mind did not wither. His pale skin was in most parts still resilient and taut; his solid frame guarded with broad shoulders proved he was still capable of quite a combat. Though elves were renowned for not growing old, the reflection in his green eyes of the years of wars that got the best of him did not go unnoticed. At the roots of his brown hair there were light traces of silver threads that blossomed like buds in the spring. Lines of wisdom painted by the brush of time circled around the great warrior's eyes that now radiated with admiration and determination.

"My King. My dear gathered fellow members," he began, speaking in Westron, with hands firmly grasping the edges of the polished table. He was seated directly across Thranduil. "We have faced evils beyond recognition throughout the ages of this earth. Sleepless malice was born that brought wrath, ruin, and death upon our innocent folk and fertile lands, destroyed our homes, slaughtered our families, and degraded our kin. Indeed, we thought freedom was just outside the door, waiting patiently for us to unlock it. But the key was taken from us once again!"

Raising a voice towards the summoned group caused a wave of approving whispers to flow amongst the other Sages and also causing Thranduil's patience to slowly grow thin. With no shame whatsoever, the King held great respect towards the mighty elf who was, besides other brave deeds of war, also commonly known for his exceptional gift of dramatizing.

"Though the enemy is at the gates, tempting us to surrender to the powers of the shadow, we shall not yield. Nor will our courage, faith or passion. This, my Lord," his merciful gaze turned towards the unimpressed King, "is where we need your blessing."

"Blessing?" Thranduil replied abruptly with a mocking voice. "I see no shadows covering our mighty hills just yet. Don't you think you have gone too far with this one, great Calaron?"

Hardly hiding the disappointed expression covering his features, Calaron simply smiled as his eyes avoided the King's icy cold gaze. "I expected other words leaving Your Majesty's mouth. Evil has been stirring in southern Mirkwood of late, in the evil place of Dol Guldur. It will only grow faster and stronger than ever if we should sit still and watch as it slowly consumes all around it. Words are spreading among people. Ghostly stories of such unimaginable horror so close to our borders! Are we to leave our people unprotected?"

Yet again, approval and awe arose. The Sages exchanged worried looks and words of agreement to the issue the leader of the council had just exposed, yet their agitation fell silent once they were aware of the King's growing annoyance.

"My beloved friends," Thranduil rose from his chair and with great dullness passed each member of the assembly while continuing, "this is not the age of evil creatures and beings lurking in the middle of Mirkwood we are facing. The peace our lands have been cherishing has been free of danger for many centuries. I highly doubt those inept creatures should spread any further than where they have been slain, let alone pose a threat to the great Woodland Realm under _my_ reign. This is the age of golden peace and amity we relish today, indeed fought in many bloody, gory wars to finally claim it. I stand before you as one of the keepers of the peace of which I speak and those who doubt it do not deserve the mercy of this Realm."

Concluding a large circle, he returned to his formal position, staring at the disgraced Sage across the table. _He was not even aware of the words that just flew_ _out_ _of his mouth,_ a thought crossed Calaron's mind. The great Sage was outraged at his King's behaviour. No matter how much influence the latter might cast upon the members and the noblemen of this Realm, _never_ in his heart and in this life could Calaron allow to be this humiliated. The King might savour in the power that had obviously overcome his thoughts, but Calaron saw greater doom awaiting the Realm if such things would continue to occur. If he needed to put in so much effort and time into only persuading his King to acknowledge the issues that are becoming a growing threat not far beyond their borders, he dared not to imagine the fate that would befall this once great land in case of further ignorance and denial. Fate waited for no one. And it was only a matter of time before the King shall look upon his demolished Realm swimming in ruins as he would go mad from his own blindness.

"I feel so tired," a sad cry left Aireiel's lips while still locked in her father's firm embrace.

"Do not fade, my dear, not now," Edenir whispered, clutching his daughter to his beating heart.

How did all of this happen so far and so quickly? Just moments ago they were running happily across their wide meadow of blooming summer flowers, laughing and crying the tears of joy without a care in the world, and now... Now, their world was falling apart. So it would seem at first glance, but there was something that did not let Edenir's poor soul rest.

" _Edenir Nelethrin, son of_ _Eruvant_ _n_ _en_ _Nelethrin, the heir of the Forgotten lords and lord of Lothlorien, you have come a far way to reclaim your title," said a deep, laughing voice as Edenir stood above his fallen daughter, clinging fiercely to the Dragon Slayer. "Have you come to rescue her? To save her from the claws of darkness and the power of the shadow? A devastating news awaits thee – the elleth is beyond your reach. Her soul has passed to the other side. She has joined_ _the rest of_ _her kin."_

Sucked back to reality, Edenir's grip on his weakened daughter beneath him enhanced. The Necromancer's haunting words could not leave Edenir's head. Flashbacks of the recent skirmish kept reappearing in front of the elf's eyes, leaving him with cold anguish the warlock had brought upon. Even though now, that he had experienced on his own skin a glimpse of how it felt to have your mind overtaken and controlled by the dark power, he could not even imagine the pain Aireiel must have gone through when possessed by the Necromancer. Despair wrapped him in its cold embrace, gloominess overflew his veins, darkness poisoned his vision. It was the very first time Edenir Nelethrin ever had a mere taste of the stirring evil of Middle Earth. It was progressive, leechlike, and aggressive, slowly ravaging your soul from within. When it released Edenir from its filthy claws, leaving him on a thin thread of life, the ailing elf barely kept his shaking feet on the ground.

When Edenir slowly and painfully regained his strengths after short memory loss, one by one it all came back to him. Screams, tears and blood filled his mind as he closed his eyes to protect himself from the sudden violent irruption of the regained memory.

" _Ada! Help me!" Aireiel screamed whilst hanging on the edge of consciousness. Her cries for help were muffled and in vain. With a snap of the conjurer's fingers the power coming from within those lithe fingers smashed the elleth on the cold ground as if she was nothing but a feather to the creature. Right in that moment her eyes slowly closed as the pain and the whole world surrounding her turned into a fading memory._

 _Edenir marched up and down around the border of the forest near Dol Guldur where his daughter had ran to in a haste the worried elf could not elucidate. As if some sort of spell bewitched her, she simply walked out the forest up to that fortress of evil. No second thought. No last glance. No final words. Just like that, she left all she once cared deeply about for sacrificing herself for an unattainable goal. The wise elf knew his daughter too well to believe this to be an act of recklessness and rebellion. Aireiel cared too much for her own history, heritage, and tradition to simply forsake everything they had been both building up for the past few centuries. And that was to start to live normally again after all the years of torture of the past. Deep down he knew she still loved him like she used to. Deep down he tried to convince himself to believe that she would not do this on her own will. That said, a dark thought triggered in his mind; there must have been some virulent poison that had entered her unsullied mind. And that only meant one thing._

 _His feet suddenly moved in the direction Aireiel had_ _r_ _u_ _n to, carrying him with the utmost haste and urgency. He had to save Aireiel from the filthy claws of whatever foul being that dwelt in these deserted land_ _s._ _If it meant giving his life instead of hers, so be it. He would not forgive himself if he should be too late. Great dull and grey plains decorated with_ _tall dry_ _grass dancing in the eerie sway of the wind appeared in front of him._ _His pace quickened along with the dark clouds forming right above the ruins that revealed in front of him. As a member of the Elf kind, he could sense great evil_ _had_ _been summoned_ _at_ _the place he was marching upon this moment. Evil that should demolish all the green of the forests of this world. Evil that bowed to no sword or king, evil that demanded to have all the good wiped out of these lands. He feared, perhaps, even his precious daughter's life._

 _E_ _ven though a tiny bit of glimmering hope still lingered in the darkest corners of his mind it was impossible to evade the touch of death. The_ _breath_ _of decay and wickedness breathed down Edenir's nape next to his insanely quickly pounding neck vain. Nothing could eradicate the horrible images of his daughter flashing before his eyes nor the growing pressure in his chest. How could he have doubted her even for one second? How could he have believed her to be so careless?_ _How could he have let himself do nothing?_ _Reaching the highest stairs of the debris he could feel the presence of many unidentified creatures nearby._ _Dark magic swirled all around the place, especially the corner on the left where his daughter was captured._ _He has not encountered such powerful force since the disappearance of his_ _bess_ _. Slowly he crept behind the half chipped pillars to investigate the hollow area in hope to catch a glimpse of his daughter. Eventually, his wish came true, but unfortunately not in the way he desired._ _(_ _ **Bess = wife)**_

 _Lying unconsciously on the dusty ground with her limbs jutting from her body under immensely painful angle due to_ _the_ _loss of the_ _control over her body, defeat and agony rested frozen on_ _Aireiel's_ _pale face. Tiny bits of sand and gravel were intertwined with her auburn locks as nothing on her being seemed to indicate she was still alive._ _As any father would,_ _Edenir_ _instinctively jumped to his fallen daughter, cursing the destiny and the Gods for casting such horrible fate upon his innocent daughter. He has failed her. With tears rushing up in his already soaked eyes he clutched Aireiel to his arms, wishing he could see her cheerful eyes one last time._ _While he pressed her inaudible heart to his, he could feel the colour_ _s that once filled his life leave this world little by little. And there was nothing he could possibly do about it. He was holding the purpose of his life in his embrace – however, now long gone._

 _Oblivious to his surroundings, Edenir's hands fell to the ground along with his tired body. He would never forgive himself for failing her in such reprehensible way. His senses grew weaker,_ _the strength of the Eldar was leaving him._ _When everything seemed to be lost, when all hopes had faded, and all the colour of life had drained – something miraculous and most unexpected happened. With a short, but_ _distinct gasp Aireiel's chest quickly lifted with her eyes still shut. Her lips parted as her unsteady breathing continued._

" _Aireiel? Aireiel,_ _nín muin, can you hear m_ _e?_ _" Edenir crawled to her side with shaking hands. But Aireiel's eyes did not open to her father's calls._

" _Edenir Nelethrin, son of_ _Eruvant_ _n_ _en_ _Nelethrin, the heir of the Forgotten lords and lord of Lothlorien, you have come a far way to reclaim your title," said a deep,_ _mocking_ _voice as Edenir_ _jumped defensively_ _above his fallen daughter, clinging fiercely to the Dragon Slayer. "Have you come to rescue her? To save her from the claws of darkness and the power of the shadow? A devastating news awaits thee – the elleth is beyond your reach. Her soul has passed to the_ _world of spirits_ _. She has joined_ _the rest of_ _her kin."_

 _C_ _ircling around the body b_ _eneath_ _him, Edenir gripped his sword more fiercely than ever. "You're lying!" he shouted into the air not knowing the Necromancer had_ _already_ _surrounded him._

" _I have no reason to lie," spoke the same voice with an irritated tone that sent shivers down Edenir's spine and down below his back._

" _Then tell me the reason why is she lying defenceless on the ground?" he cried. "Why is she like this? What have you done to her?!_ _Speak!_ _"_

 _The hurt in Edenir's voice progressed with each sentence until at last the_ _bitter_ _tears got the best of him. Now the mist swirling around the area_ _had_ _gathered_ _in an incoherent form in front of the elf. The shape was faceless, but the energy radiating was definitely indicating hostility._

" _Who dares to stand against me? Who dares to provoke me?"_

" _I do not fear thee, Necromancer. I have nothing left to lose, so speak now or you shall meet the strength of my sword!"_

 _A haunting laugh spread across the deserted area. Fear nestled in Edenir's veins. If only, he sobbed in his mind, they hadn't strayed so far away from their abode. If only he could have persuaded her. If only... she could listen._

" _I have waited a long time for the heir of the Forgotten Lords to make his appearance. His ire and rage after having his family abducted could not go unnoticed. You have been marked, fearless elf. Great mystery lies veiled from your eyes; a mystery that should answer all of the question that haunt you," spoke the Necromancer._

" _What are you speaking of?" asked the baffled owner of the Dragon Slayer._

" _How could you have been so blind?" the demon roared and approached him. Even though there were no clear features on its mysterious face, the hiss coming from the dark void where its head should lie was becoming suspiciously realistic. "Has your own memory deceived you?"_

 _This was a riddle Edenir had no answer to. Not even the slightest idea sprung in his mind of what the Necromancer could possibly speak of. He was pretty much convinced from the start that this being was without doubt the one responsible for the disappearance of the main part of his family, but only now he had realized it knew a whole lot more than Edenir believed this whole time. What mystery was he speaking about? Was this an indirect connection to his lost family? Or only an illusion, a sick mind-twisting trick the demon had pulled off to weaken his opponent emotionally?_

 _The elf stood strong in his position with his burning look directed to the void in front of him. He would not let the Necromancer play on his pain of loosing his family. He would not give him that much satisfaction._

" _After your wife, your daughter, and your only son were taken from you; did you, by chance, experience a series of dark, unpleasant dreams haunting you from night to night? Never letting your poor soul be? Not allowing you to rest peacefully ever since? Of course you have. And I can only assume you know very well this sort of occurrence as its source and consequences. There is still purpose in your life – though hanging on a thinning thread. The rest of your as of your daughter's future lays in your hands."_

 _After a fair share of silence had passed, Edenir still couldn't put his finger on what was actually happening. The things the creature was telling him about started to make sense. Edenir could not decide whether or not he should continue to listen to the rest of what the Necromancer had to say or if he should simply go after it and avenge his daughter. He had heard of the great conjurer's reputation, even though if only in ghost stories his ancestors told him at night when he was a child, yet the feeling he got from hearing those dreadful stories lingered to this day. Never in his wildest dreams could he had presumed he would one day face the creature eye to eye._

" _What do you even want from me?" Edenir asked bluntly, finally able to act as he felt. Completely puzzled. "What am I to you?"_

" _You, Edenir Nelethrin, still have an important part to play in the events that should follow. But, unfortunately, that is where you become an obstacle, needed to be erased, removed, eliminated. Unfortunately, this is where our shared path comes to an end," the mysterious voice concluded and flew up into the grey skies, leaving Edenir's question unanswered._

 _Why would such a powerful being reveal the truth to his opponent in most likely the last moments of his miserable life when it could have just skipped the whole emotional part and delicately get rid of him as it very politely indicated? Or was it pitying him? But for what? What on Earth was the Necromancer not telling him? Perhaps this was its punishment to the forgotten heir of Lothlorien – to rot in his own doubt and regret for eternity he would spend as a spirit in the halls of Mandos. To wait upon a judgement that should never come. Could that mean that his life mission was still not entirely fulfilled? Could that mean... It could not be._

 _Before he could even conceive what his mind was leading him to he was interrupted by the approach of numerous heavy footsteps. After the steps started to decelerate, creepy whispers in Dark speech began. Edenir_ _quickly_ _looked around to encounter the enemy,_ _but nothing_ _came into his sight which left him in complete impotence._ _The invisible beings crept nearer and nearer, while Edenir's patience was wearing thin. On the other hand, he was still left in the dark whether or not his daughter might still be alive, yet right now he was forced to devote all his attention to the unknown opponent. For what seemed to be an eternity there was no movement or speech to be heard at all, but just before Edenir was about to make his move, something crept from behind one of the chipped pillars. From what the elf was able to discern it appeared to be one nasty Gundabad orc. Firm jawline formed a ruthless, feral face decorated with deeply-carved battle scars. Each time their gaze met the creature would let out a distinctive growl that only meant more orcs would join it. How right Edenir was. In not more than a couple of quick minutes three more servants of the shadow would join what it seemed to be their leader – the tallest one with the stoutest build of them all. Howbeit his tread was careful and confident, it lacked balance and_ _meticulous_ _ness._ _It was negligent, coarse, and cloddish. Typical for a senselessly bred species whose main fault_ _s_ _w_ _ere_ _imprecision_ _and temerity._

 _S_ _uddenly everything became extremely loud. In a matter of seconds,_ _each_ _sound,_ _vibration, motion_ _around Edenir increased to such level it was hard for him to keep his eyes open and focused. Everything around him became more distinct and_ _incisive._ _His body seemed restive, seemed strained to catch slightest pressure or whisper of life in the spaces around him._ _Horrible headache emerged in his mind every time he tried to dismiss all irksome factors preventing him from defending himself and his daughter's life. Some sort of illness entered his mind and he swore to himself that by all means he would survive this and bring Aireiel back to life.  
_ _The sorrow and surliness of the place radiated more than ever. And they both brought upon a tangible dread of forthcoming ending with deadly speed._

 _It only took one more grouchy roar from one of the members of the lethal pack before they all ran towards him._ _While the evil creatures_ _were making_ _a dive at the_ _ready_ _elf, the surroundings turned to slow motion._ _From the_ _sway of the grass_ _of_ _the dried clearing nearby_ _to_ _the movements of the_ _mythical_ _creatures_ _from_ _miles away; it all froze in time except_ _Edenir himself_ _._ _The birds' song ceased, the trees were still and inert, and far over the mountains there was a mutter of a grim, looming gale._ _It was as though the sky darkened in_ _a_ _strange shade of grey, as though there ha_ _s_ _been a sudden mumble in a gust of the wind – for_ _a split second the whole nature around bound in the darkness that_ _had_ _prevailed._ _He could only guess if what he was experiencing was_ _an_ _early kiss of death or the stricken environment had a special effect on him; nevertheless, something_ _had a hold on him and it was not showing any signs of breaking the grip anytime soon._ _  
_ _The clash of heavy swords and groans beg_ _a_ _n as both of the rivals realized they_ _had_ _underestimated each other. Just as Edenir thought of the filthy orcs to be clumsy and unwieldy the elf himself turned out to be quite a challenge for the team that_ _was obviously in_ _the_ ** _ascendant_** _in this combat._ _As the fight advanced, it all returned back to normal speed as if the disturbing moments merely seconds ago never even existed. Edenir was now forced to forget about everything that might have burdened him or prevented him from fully concentrating on this_ _fray_ _in any way. But despite failing miserably at trying to do so, the Dragon Slayer felt ridiculously light and smooth in his experienced hands. The power flaring from within the majestic weapon surged through Edenir's skin, hitting him with a fervid wave of infinite amount of power he ha_ _s_ _never faced before._ _The newborn vigour in his movements and swings caused the orcs to finally yield to the blazing_ _blade that induced even deeper wounds than the beings had suffered from previous battles, wars even._ _The orcs' o_ _utcries over caused pain increased until at last the power totally overcame Edenir, leaving him with four bloody, marred bodies lying on the cold ground. Before he could join the dots together and fathom the outcome of the battle, he crashed to the ground – the Dragon Slayer lying wearied beside him – and remained in such position until his consciousness was awoken by a rhythmic gait of what seemed to be a rather large herd of fabled mearrases._

"I suggest we should all take a short respite," declared a black-haired member, that had obviously sensed the growing tension in the Hall more than anyone present at the meeting. Since everyone else more or less stared blankly either at their King or the main adherent of the court that gazed in each other's eyes with such flames of disunity and contempt it was easy to tell these two went way back. The electrifying pause had dragged on way too long not to discern that this shall not end well on both parts so the brave member, who earlier dared to break the silence stood up from his chair with red cheeks in order to once again tersely indicate his frustration towards the ongoing conflict. All the other members peeked to his side in shock and exasperation at how he dared to interfere with the King and his co-speaker. "Please, my Lords," he begged after the gazes started to become offensive.

Only after Thranduil's left palm moved for an inch from the polished table, followed by the movement of his whole body, the members began to recollect their notes and copied the King by withdrawing from the table. Not only after Thranduil physically left the Hall could they ever allow themselves to so severely offend their ruler by standing up before the King himself would execute such gesture. Seconds after the Hall lost the presence of the ruler, seethed chatter and gossip would inflame on the dark-haired member's account. Yet the poor elf was not in any way offended nor hurt by the criticism that flew out of the members' mouths; deep down he knew he did the right thing or else this would end in blood. That he was sure of.

Calaron followed the members out of the Hall in the back, making him the last to exit the concourse. His thoughts were a mess; how would the King's philosophy affect the Kingdom if such matters should leak to the public? Was he using his power and influence to manipulate with the rest of the Council? How could they follow him so blindly and naively, believing that each order the King enacts would necessarily benefit the Realm?  
He saw only one solution to this endless glitch – he needed someone from outside of the Council to join the polemic. Someone who might not be so easily enticed by the King's apparent inexplicable charms.

As the members wobbled their grumpy bodies through the neighbouring corridor, Calaron thought of a brilliant idea. One that might actually help him carry out the original plan he had in mind from the beginning of the meeting. Since the very nature of the current subject was more or less war, he thought he may as well visit the lead commander of the Royal Army and integrate him into the exhausting debate, believing he could contribute to the discussion with some useful information regarding the capacity of the army, expenses, and all sorts of complicated procedures. If they were to fight in this war, they shall fight in style.

He headed to the north of the underground palace where captains, commanders, generals, and higher officials of the Royal Army of the Woodland Realm resided. There was a slight change in the architecture in these halls; high wooden walls which were carved in beautiful embellishments were made of darker and heavier wood than the previous, lighter halls. The amount of guards securing the passages was not induced nor the supply of running-about maids, however the place lacked light and warmth the closeness of the nature usually provided. The halls and the corridors were dreary, dull and soulless. One would think that is just the way the military mind operates: they like things plain and simple, yet effective in their purpose.  
Calaron passed the chambers of many commanders in chief he knew personally very well, but he was determined to see a particular individual he shared quite a large segment of the past with. He was certain the person he was off to would listen carefully to his proposal, especially when it included delicate matters about the King.

After some time of strolling and roaming the corridors, he found himself at the commander's entrance. He knocked twice before an exceedingly tall, dark-haired elf showed in front of Calaron's eyes. There was no guessing the ellon had participated in many gruesome, violent wars – his experienced eyes radiated with extreme suspicion and caution.

"Oh, beleg Calaron, na le," replied the commander maintaining his remiss smile. **(Oh, dear Calaron, it is you.)**

"Tura im tula mi?" asked Calaron warily. **(May I come inside?)**

"É, minna." **(Of course, enter.)**

"Hannad, gon Meatherion," he whispered while he carefully entered the chamber. **(Thank you, commander Menatherion.)**

Despite knowing each other for almost a millennium, the two were exceptionally quiet today. As the day was drawing to a close, the natural light became more distant and subdued. Faint sprinkles of late afternoon sunlight seeped through the tall walls made of twisted patterns of oak tree branches that hugged the centre of the vast chamber which belonged to the venerable war hero. Meatherion now nervously walked around the circle in the middle of the chamber surrounded with fine polished furniture that came from beneath the hands of Mirkwood's best master craftsmen. Since Meatherion's chamber was located deeper in the heart of the palace, meaning deeper beneath the mountain out of which the dwelling of the King Thranduil and his gentry was carved, the natural light was not sufficient to irradiate the whole room, for that reason a few candles were required to retrieve the perhaps stolen luminosity. The candlelight was a perfect addition to the chamber, since it lightened the place in a very mysterious, yet tranquil manner.

Meatherion's posture was tense and rigid, his hands were nervously clasping behind his back. The expression resting on his matured face seemed perplexed, sort of befuddled by his friend's visit. He was no fool. Of course he knew Calaron was here for a justifiable reason, yet he was torn between what that true reason for his friend's visit might be. He had a knack for reading people's body language that usually gave out more information they'd initially planned, but this time it was him whose body language was a bit confusing. The darkness in which he was left was eating him from within.

"May I steal a moment of your time, commander?" Calaron unexpectedly began.

"Why, you have already stolen it, great Sage," Meatherion jested to hide his irritation. Calaron ignored the unnecessary remark.

"I know I am coming in a very inappropriate time to discuss issues of a higher law. The nature of the matter I'm carrying is of extreme importance and sensitivity. Can you guarantee that what will be said in this chamber shall remain in it?" When he received no confirmation or acknowledgement from the warrior, he grew deeply sceptical about his choice of consultation. "You've got no spies hidden somewhere behind those walls, have you?"

Even though it was meant as a funny quip, Meatherion did not flinch. Calaron was wondering if in the time spend apart from each other the warrior had encountered some unexpected and unwanted issues that had turned him to such stolid, detached person. He was aware that military workforce should maintain such impression, but putting their duties aside: where had his friend gone to? What happened to the majestic, legendary, dauntless persona Meatherion was once known for? Where did his charming wittiness and eagerness disappeared to? He came to a brief conclusion that time changes us all. And change is the only constant in life.

"Well, where to even begin..." the Sage said and slowly walked down the stairs that lead to the grand circle. The hem of his robe was casually sweeping the stairs with each step he took. His movements were diligently observed by Meatherion's narrow askance eyes. "As you were perhaps informed, we called an urgent summon of the council with the King. In fact, it was _me_ who insisted upon the idea to include His Majesty since the situation we are dealing with is rather devastating and in need of immediate consecration."

"And has the Council come to a decision yet?" asked Meatherion curiously wherein he kept his solemn and impassive appearance.

Calaron hesitated before speaking forthrightly with his old friend. "I would much rather see the King thinking twice before making up his mind and consider the consequences if we should not take timely measures when they should be taken."

"By that you mean the King has not accepted your preposition?" the experienced warrior indicated with a half-smirk gracing his lips. He enjoyed the idea of seeing Calaron all confused and befuddled by the King's arrogance all the palace's residents experienced in the past month, but he kept the amusing notion to himself.

At first, Calaron _did_ seem rather baffled by Meatherion's comment, but seconds later he remembered the smirk the warrior pulled off and he couldn't help himself but notice a vestige of mockery in his friend's statement. In that moment he knew. He knew his friend has truly returned.

"Well, you know how much I hate admitting defeat, but I rarely get a chance to confront the King," he began with forged seriousness when he suddenly looked at his co-speaker with avid sparkles in his eyes, eagerly waiting for the warrior to reply.

Even though the beginning of this conversation could have led Calaron to believe he would receive no helping hand from Meatherion, but years of experience assured him his dear friend would not refuse a friend in need. Despite sinister and dubious hearsay spreading across the palace faster than wildfire each day, he believed in the end Meatherion would come around and aid him in time of need. Fighting so many wars and seeing them through alive side by side, breaking such bond would mean lying to one's self. It would mean nothing else but treason. And Calaron secretly scolded himself for doubting his friend for even a second.

"What is it you need, my friend?" Meatherion said in half laughter. His posture considerably eased in relief. "A council from a proficient soldier?"

"Indeed, you are not so far from the truth," Calaron replied, settling in a comfortable leather armchair by the candlelights. "I could use a favour or two you still owe me."

Hearing that, first reaction that came to Meatherion's mind was laughter and mirth, though when he to deepened into his friend's words the smile died away. His thoughts wandered to the actual reason behind the favour he owed Calaron. His mind was flooded with memories he tried his best to quell, but haunted him nonetheless. Who would imagine a scenery such as this; the most skilful and adroit commander the Royal Army had ever had the honour to possess, yet he would still feel his knees trembling and shaking just at the thought of the spilt blood on that gory day.  
Hundreds of years ago, when these lands were facing an inevitable war the spreading evil had initiated, the pair of the wise elves would stand next to each other on a highland near the King's residence, simply gazing into the vast green landscape of occasional undulating hummocks jutting out of the abundant forests of the Woodland Realm.

" _Funny, wouldn't you think, Lord Commander?" Calaron began._

" _What is?" the Commander replied, not removing his eyes from the beautiful, transient nature boasting in front of him._

" _The one thing we are so eagerly trying to protect is the only thing that can save us from the horrors which are about to ensue."_

Meatherion closed his eyes in order to wipe out the crushing weight of the memories that had so violently reentered his mind, regardless of the beauty of this particular recall and the serenity the old warrior felt in his heart. He was irritated by his inability to prevent the intrusive reminiscence that left him vulnerable and weak. It was very surprising how he, of all people, could succumb to such petty emotions and feelings he felt crushing his chest. Even the bravest of men, who had battled in several bloody wars, could experience fear. True courage was not denying fear nor running away from it. It was looking straight into the dark void of its eyes and admitting you can overcome it. It was not about Meatherion being too scared to do such a thing; it was merely the humanity surging within him. Although he had lied to himself many times, refusing the idea of even possessing such a vulnerable side of him, it was there. It was very much alive, and he hated to think it was that very part of him that helped him survive the horrors he had witnessed.

Before he opened his eyes, he pondered on the meaning of the specific memory that flashed in his mind. Was there a secret meaning to it? Were perhaps the Gods trying to give him a sign? Even before Calaron paid him a visit, he could sense concern and apprehension stirring in the halls of the underground palace. But was there a certain message hidden behind it? He couldn't exactly pride himself on having exceptional gifts of either foresight or unparalleled wisdom, but the centuries spent on the battlefield unquestionably did leave some sort of mark on you. The dreadful smell of decay in the air, the rising hostility amid the infantry of men, intangible perception of betrayal and treason amongst closest of friends. Those were more than simple sensations – those were predictions, visions, hunches that haunted him as through the years of being the lord commander as also through the years of becoming a legend for it. Yet such blessings rarely occur without a curse lurking in there somewhere. Meatherion was positive he could have done something in order to prevent many unnecessary quarrels and disputes by using the power of his "gift", but most of the times he just ignored the feeling, mistaking it for his ill subconsciousness wanting to prevail over his reasonable side. Even if he could control it and act rationally on its behalf, he doubted he would ever use it. Especially now. All he wished of the time he had left was to enjoy it in peace rather than causing needless fuss and controversy among the honourable maids and noble elves. All he wished for was serenity and earned repose while he was still in the mercy of his King.

"What has occupied your mind so greatly, mellon?" Calaron interrupted his thoughts, still comfortably positioned in the armchair.

The warrior turned around to find himself in an entirely different location as when the first violation of the memories occurred. His silver eyes widened towards his friend and he lowered his head a bit. "Forgive me. I must have drifted away to different times in my thoughts."

"There is nothing to forgive, my friend," Calaron replied with gloominess that had surrounded the room. "I completely understand."

"What do you mean?" Meatherion asked in disbelief since he highly doubted Calaron had the slightest idea of what he was thinking at that moment.

"Simply that times have changed drastically. I sometimes allow to dwell on the past myself; the things I would have done differently. Things I wish wouldn't have happened. But have nonetheless."

Even though he was not that dedicated to the military, Calaron was prepared to fight if need be. And need were. The times he was referring to were dark, depressing, and doleful – the times of war always were. Battlefield, blood, and fighting being far from his expertise, it affected him even deeply than Meatherion. Those were the scars they shared.

"What have you truly come here for, Calaron?" Meatherion spoke with a hint of sadness in his voice for knowing the answer already. But there was also a trace of fear to be detected in his tone. He was trying to avoid it. He was doing his best to see past the obvious truth. He wanted to believe it not to be real. But with each day avoiding it, the pain that would emerge as the aftermath of the realization increased. And now he decided to face it and put an end to it once and for all.

The seemingly innocent question awoke the Sage from his profound musing. The colour of his eyes changed from the shade of brown leaves in the autumn to passionate tinge of dark umber. "War is upon us."

It took Meatherion a full minute to comprehend his friend's words, as well as the earnest of the tone he had used to utter them. His heart clenched which caused a slight change in his heartbeat. He had not experienced such feeling in centuries. This acknowledgement filled him with misery and devastation as he slowly began to put the pieces back together.

"Darkness has returned," he heard himself say. Calaron nodded in confirmation with his gaze centred to the stone floor. "So it is true after all."

The last sentence came out more as a meagre whisper but it did not slip past Calaron's ears. He lifted his head and lean it to his side, the gazing of those keen brown eyes now fixed on Meatherion's body. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his large palms clasping nervously. He waited for him to elaborate the **unintelligible** mutter.

"I experienced... apparition. Some kind of ill dreams that haunted me, would not let me be no matter how hard I tried to ignore it. It was violent and the content..." Meatherion caught himself breathless. Only after Calaron insisted twice that he finishes the sentence was he able to finally utter it – and finally able to admit it to himself as well. "It was our extinction."

Previously showing Calaron his back, he now carefully swayed in his hips to devote his friend a bitter look. "I am so deeply sorry."

The Sage collapsed back in the armchair, letting out a long exhale filled with worries and panic. His right hand slid to his forehead towards his temples with his eyes closed. At this moment, he was offered two effective solutions that would ease the flaming rage that emerged within his chest. There was one that included Meatherion being banished from the Woodland Realm under pain of death which seemed slightly aggressive and exaggerated in its manner, though a realistic and easiest one. The other one was of course a product of Calaron's reasonable and rational thinking. Now his theory, previously mocked and despised by his colleagues, was shared, which, regardless of the sensitive nature of the matter, brought peace to his restless soul. _He was not the only one._ It was especially heartening to know that the ellon he shared his assumption with was not only a beloved friend of his but also a very appreciated and renowned member of the royal society. Maybe his intentions sounded faintly selfish, but the whole picture those intentions were a part of were to benefit the entire Realm. One could might as well say they could prevent war or at least lessen the casualties that would affect the Kingdom in case of war nonetheless. This was his opportunity to prove the council not only his theory but also... in fact, that was the only thing he intended to prove.

"No need to apologize, my dearest friend," he stood up in an uncanny cheerful mood that provoked a shocked look from the warrior.

"What are you on to, Calaron?" the warrior asked, still shocked of course, but growing more and more suspicious of the moral background of his friend's intentions.

"Come with me" was all he got in reply and Calaron's fast gait indicated he had to settle for that or else he would be a victim of Calaron's impatience and excitement which formed a deadly duo.

Meatherion swung his dark blue robe around his figure and rushed after his friend towards the stairs that Calaron had just passed. Naturally he was glad Calaron seemed optimistic at least about something, though he himself failed to see anything positive about war. He figured he should simply trust his friend's instinct which had already successfully managed to save his life in the past. While Meatherion was endowed with the talent of wielding the swords and actually being quite good at it, Calaron was more experienced in the area of politics that often meant the dirtier part of the game. But one could not go without the other. Speculations could predict the Royal Army guided by the combined geniuses of Meatherion and Calaron would turn out an exceedingly promising one.

Side by side they exited Meatherion's chamber which led them to the centre of the hall of the military lords where they were greeted by two guards at each side of the hallway every fourth step. Meatherion secretly peeked to every second guard he passed to observe their features, especially the way they would carry their weaponry. Some seemed rather befuddled by the task given to them, whilst the others appeared to be quite adapt at the new position. Yet one thing was painfully obvious – all of them seemed younger and younger each time the army would announce recruitment. Meatherion was sure not a single one he checked out was older than five hundred years which was pure absurd.  
But then again, the Captain of the Royal Army did not show more than five to six hundred years herself, yet she was the most capable, disciplined, and diligent soldiers he had ever come across. _And she was an elleth!_

At the end of the maze of narrow and long hallways, they found themselves in the heart of the palace where the view included all the renowned sights the impeccable elvish architecture had to offer: from the string of Eastern region's most secured dungeons located in the lowest level of the palace where they kept the Realm's filthiest and vilest criminals to the palace's vast ceiling, enriched with natural light and beautiful patterns of proud branches of the Kingdom's strongest oak and chestnut trees. This was the view that restored your faith in almost forgotten art of architecture combined with craftsmanship, and also the view the two elves passed with such speed it seemed their feet were rolling wheels.

Once they entered the Corridors of Prophecy they walked with pride and arrogance, convinced what they were about to tell their audience would shock everyone right to their crumbling bones. But how wrong they were.

Just as they reached the high arch at the end of the hallway, the Sages, mixed with a large group of other elves of noble origin and position, were squeezing their heads to catch a mere glimpse of something most interesting ( _but not more thrilling than what I have to offer, my_ _L_ _ords,_ Calaron grinned in his mind) located in the centre of the concourse. As the pair drew closer to the mumbling elves, they could distinguish the whispers were of an entirely different nature than Calaron initially predicted.

"Faeg ellon!" **(Poor elfling!)**

"By Gods, who could execute such dreadful deed?"

"Has anyone informed the King of the incident?"

Calaron (with vexed Meatherion conscientiously following him) pushed his way through his shocked companions to the centre of attention that caught the gathered elves by such surprise. Just one more push and he found himself at the edge of a circle formed by the half-screaming half-whispering crowd. Once he noticed the main attraction, Calaron's breath caught in his throat.

"What do these nagging old ellyn make such fuss-" Meatherion began, but he soon fell speechless as he followed his friend's gaze towards the middle of the circle.

His clothes completely torn apart, most likely caused by deadly flames of fire, and with his eyes still opened in terror, the young dark-haired Sage lay dead cold. The young elfling's frozen expression only indicated that he had witnessed horrors of Hell itself.

"By Gods," Meatherion uttered silently. "Is that not-"

"It is. It is, my dear friend," Calaron replied sadly, his eyes locked on the surrounded body. "The poor ellon died for our sins. And that is only a beginning."


	5. Chapter 5

**Long time no see! I've been really busy lately (who would have thought I had a social life, right?) since I just got back from my trip to Denmark. With all these things piling up all I want to do is wrap myself in a warm blanket and write until I feel like my consciousness has fully left this planet and that I am suddenly surrounded with the beauties of Middle Earth. Who wouldn't wish for that?**

 **This chapter might seem a bit long, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!**

* * *

Chapter 5

Wave of mutters and whispers passed along the newcomers, causing increasing panic to spread around the shaken crowd that now consisted of elves of lower class as well. There were still occasional screams and sighs to be heard, but the main subject of the discussions that had arisen between the present Sages were conspiracy theories including having a traitor in their midst. Such ideas caused yet another rush of consternation and hysteria to flood the crowd. Calaron realized things were getting out of control with abnormal speed and something had to be done. But he failed to see that exposing himself in such extremely vulnerable circumstances of the Sages eagerly wanting to come to the end of the bizarre incident by searching an appropriate culprit to blame, was not a very wise idea.

"Nín waith, rhae idho!" he shouted at the shocked swarm as he stepped into the middle. "The King's administration shall take care of the occurrence and try its best to find a justifiable explanation for the ellon's death. I am compelled to announce that from now on, His Majesty's safety is officially endangered. The crime area will be under surveillance of the Royal Army until further notice!" **(Rest easy, my people!)**

Worried looks and words of mistrust were exchanged between the Sages, despite Calaron trying to evoke the exact opposite. The fright settled in their bones like a disease. They kept asking the Gods for a sign, for some sort of assurance, something that would either prove or refute their theories, as if the Gods would listen. But they wouldn't. The poor crowd kept forgetting what the aim of their Gods truly was: it was to maintain a natural harmony and balance in the environment, but as of now things seemed all but natural.

Amongst other screams and protests against the measures Calaron had decided to take, there were also hostile messages, intended directly towards the First Sage. Harsh words of him violating the royal code; accusations of immorality; the screaming contempt and disdain of the Council itself. At first harmless uprising progressed to a level that represented direct danger to the King's Council.

"You choose to show yourself now, but where were you when the poor soul needed aid?"

"Traitor! Coward!"

Those were the words that would drown out any other sound currently in the hall, and would continue to be spewed out of their plebeian mouth. Calaron felt the lethal gazes of death crawl upon his leg towards his throat to choke the life out of him. The crowd was like a flock of pigeons – once you offered them a crumb of a mouldy bread the rest of them would arrive to sate their pathological hunger simply to enjoy the feeding, to be one with the rest for it is safer to hide among the crowd rather to stand alone.

"Why should we listen to you, pe-channas?" one of the servants shouted but remained hidden behind the taller elves that centred their gaze towards the First Sage, expecting him to answer something witty. **(Pe-channas = idiot.)**

"A just question, if I may add," a deep, resonating voice said that, surprisingly, did no belong to Calaron, as it was anticipated. Silence, that carried an enormous amount of awe and fear, prevailed over the swarming hall.

"My King," heads bowed in front of the mighty figure that slid towards the middle of the circle. Elves made way for their notorious leader as the hem of his plush garment carelessly touched their feet. Not a sound was to be heard except a few humble gestures in order to greet the approaching King. His gait seemed to be so light and buoyant that one might think he was not in the slightest upset nor appalled by the murder. At least that was what his appearance hinted.

Once Thranduil stood in Calaron's proximity, he began addressing the matter (and completely ignoring the previously asked question by doing so – he must have decided that discussion can be tabled for a later time in the privacy of his personal accommodation) with one main goal: to calm the distraught crowd. "Undeniably a tremendously sad and tragic event has marked the history of the Woodland Realm. The young ellon served his homeland with great fortitude and devotion, and I am deeply hurt to see how the Gods have decided upon his fate. As the principal of the Council has proposed, I think it is best to leave the matter in the safe hands of military authorities which I am sure will notify me and the royal Council of most recent discoveries on the incident. For now, I would like everyone to remain calm and most of all," he raised his hands towards the staring crowd, "retain your faith for the Gods make the most righteous jurisdiction."

Words of wisdom and composure indeed successfully calmed the audience. An assurance that the King was very well aware of the meaning of the incident and what consequences it may leave on the Realm subconsciously made them believe that the situation was under control, when in fact, things were very far from being controlled. The very incident displayed how weak the Realm's defences were, and it exposed the fact that what Thranduil's monarchy lacked was stability and integrity within his halls. Thranduil's tranquil approach might have seemingly cooled things down a bit amid the common folk, when in reality he was boiling with rage inside. As did the members of the Council and the chiefs of the military forces. And now he was forced to deal with those too, which, he was sure would require a better part of him.

"Follow me," Thranduil whispered to Calaron and Meatherion at once with deadly tone while his eyes were still cunningly scanning the moving crowd in case of any further outrage. "Now."

With that Thranduil circled around his figure, carefully carrying the heavy cape of his robe with him, and swiftly headed towards the alternative exit of the hall which led directly to the chambers that were rarely ever used. Or shall we rather say they hadn't been used in at least a century for the chambers' main purpose was devising sly war tactics and strategy. The King gulped as they entered the anteroom through heavy, dusty wooden doors that obviously needed some serious mending. The last time he held a meeting within these walls was the time the Woodland Realm faced one of the greatest demographic calamities and natural disasters it had ever experienced. The King had every right to be nervous to relive such horrible memories.

The room was rather small considering its usual purpose, yet it remained intimate and pleasant in a modest way, offering the King himself and his most trusted counsellors and members of his small social circle to discuss highly classified matters. The room did not have any windows, only a small number of holes around the edge of the ceiling to release a few rays of a dim, remote light into the room. Calaron situated himself in one of the eleven chairs placed next to the big, round table of neatly polished walnut wood. Meatherion did not follow his actions as he did for the past fifteen minutes; instead he leaned on the table with a worried expression on his face. If you ever had the honour to meet a military official (not to mention one of the best commanders the army had ever had) you never wished to see him wear such expression which was of despair and despondency.

Even though the room contained one of the most refined, guileful, skilled individuals in the entire Middle Earth, it somehow seemed empty and bleak. It seemed as though each and every single one of them started to grasp with great horror that the enemy had successfully invaded in the highly secured stronghold that the underground palace was known for, and soon enough the whole of Middle Earth shall hear about the scandalous event. They began to realize how close the dark forces had managed to get and assassinate one of their own – and not just any kind; as one of the members of the King's Council the deceased reserved the right to own a personal guard within his grasp. It was not known if he had ever exploited such privilege, but it was certain every single member now shall.

"What made them scream your name in contempt, Calaron?" the King spoke with no life in his voice whatsoever. But that had always been difficult to detect since his usual voice sounded almost alike.

"I have no idea who turned them against me, my Lord," the Sage replied. "It all moved with such speed I was hardly able to distinguish a few members of the Council in the crowd, shocked just as I still am."

"Where exactly _were_ you?" he abruptly cut him off. The King tilted his head across the room in a very suspicious way as if he needed to put in extra effort to show how much he despised him.

"My Lord, I can assure you-"

"He paid me a visit," Meatherion jumped in, clearly oblivious to the seriousness in which the conversation of the two was lead. Before he would become a victim of needless accusations and assumptions he quickly added, "to discuss private matters."

Thranduil scoffed at the warrior's reply and focused his icy gaze on him for a split second, "And you believe those 'private matters' you speak of are none of my business, considering the circumstances?"

"I do apologize, my King, I meant no disrespect," Meatherion closed his eyes in embarrassment.

"Of course you didn't," the powerful leader replied, and one would for a moment deem the response to be another pearl in the string of confusing jests he tended to make on the account of his paltry servants, but there was a hint of sympathy to be sensed in his voice, a potential trace of compassion that surprised both of his companions. "I believe none of this was an act of a childish game to prove who is greater and fiercer. I believe it is a clear sign that someone or something very powerful dares to threaten us in such despicable way. The evildoer evidently has no conscience within its reeking body to consider twice about executing such deed. With that duly noted, it is time to discuss the safety of the Woodland Realm in the future."

Generally, Calaron agreed to what Thranduil had to say, but he only had to thank the polite and restrained side of him for not jumping into the King's speech and remind him of their previous confrontation where Thranduil had visibly shown he intended to pay no mind to insignificant matters; matters of which the Sage was certain presented direct threat to the Realm. But once again, Thranduil was not the one to swallow his pride and admit his misjudgement of the situation. That was just not in his character. But neither was defeat and humiliation in Calaron's.

"As I explicitly pointed out earlier, we are dealing with more than mere rogues, roaming the woods to cause some mild disorders in the Realm. The creature that performed the deed was definitely not the source to what we are after or what is after us; it was merely an envoy, another dispensable tool of evil which was used with the exact purpose of distracting us to think we are on the right path. It was given specific instructions by someone who obviously possesses a great deal of knowledge about the citadel and, as it turned out, a great deal about its weaknesses as well."

"It must have been someone from the inside," Meatherion joined in fiercely, "It is impossible to break through our defences, unless... Unless-"

"Unless someone showed it the way in," Thranduil completed his sentence as the realization settled in his mind.

"But who could have done such a treacherous feat? I can personally vouch for each soldier currently serving the Royal Army – they are devoted to their duty with all their heart and mind," Meatherion said eagerly.

"I do not doubt the mighty forces of our army nor the valour of our **soldiers** , Meatherion. However, what I _do_ doubt is that this intimidator is a mere mortal, let alone capable of doing such a thing without hiding something," the King explained **.**

The stated made Calaron lost himself in the abyss of his own thoughts on possible intrigues and seditions that might have sprouted inside the halls. "Perhaps it is hiding itself. Maybe it is yet not ready to reveal its true form, but is quite in a hurry of making a daring point, hence the use of a skilled mercenary to do its dirty work."

"And there is only one reason to why someone would have the audacity to invade our lands in attempt to make a daring point," Thranduil proclaimed with his hands resting on the table and his robe loosened up at his side. "It is to declare war."

Silence, carrying the horrendous weight of the fact that inevitable war was now upon the Realm, danced among the trio. Each had their own visions of the Realm's future in case of worst scenario, but all had three things in common: desolation, indigence, and death. The images of the Kingdom's dwellers covered in blood and ash flashed before their eyes, despite all of them trying their best to repel the contagious misery out of their minds. The obvious question of how the Council should proceed arose, and all three waited for someone to begin to addressing the matter. As convention dictated, the King decided to show the strength and fortitude upon which the Kingdom was based.

"It is irrefutable that in the long and prospering years of my reign we have possibly never faced such daring foe," his voice announced. "Not only that it has shown us its mightiness in an extremely atrocious way, but it also shoved our friend into the darkness out of which no spell can bring him back to us. We shall give him the memorial he deserves. For now, it is crucial that all of our attention and forces are focused on what is lurking out there, and on finding the most effective solution to stop it before it spreads its clout elsewhere and before it can gain new allies."

The three savants contemplated further, each appraising their own thoughts and strategies how they could defeat the new enemy the Realm had stumbled upon. In the past, the Kingdom had faced many instruments of the dark in all shapes and forms, carrying the extermination and trepidation of the shadow with them – their ploy and methods were known to the leaders of the Realm's army. Yet this particular threat was something fresh indeed, something that they could not so simply abandon and claim it to be the course of nature. For this had nothing to do with the harmony these lands used to be flanked with. In fact, it was quite contrary to the laws of nature; by violating its liberty and innate peace, the evildoer shall not go unpunished by Yavanna, the Giver of Fruits and the Queen of Earth. Thankfully, the war had yet not taken place, although it was not very difficult to assume that the beginning of the end was near. Thranduil hated the thought of that. He visibly flinched at the idea of all of his hard work being so easily obliterated, burned, and turned to ash. In his fuming hatred it was hard to discern if his worries were solely oriented towards his folk and his kin or if behind all the seeming concern there lay a bit more selfish interest. He could not deny that he feared for himself and what would become of him since he was not one of those rulers known for their compassion and benevolence. However, he was loved by his people for a reason, and that indisputable fact he had to use in his advantage.

As his thoughts deepened into the likely unravelling of the events, he considered who else should fight in the war. The forces of the Royal Army were indeed burly and stalwart, though the odds in the war against the armies of the shadow were not likely to be in their favour. The first reason for the doubt of his maethyr that seeped through his thoughts was that the foe's forces were presumably going to be in greater number, therefore would leave his armies outnumbered; the second alluded to the very composition of the enemy's army – it would more or less consist of filthy, war-bred orcs whose main aim in life was to kill, and that would mean yet another inconvenience to consider; while the third appeared merely as pure, benumbing fear paralysing his gut and heart. The possibility of a colossal rout was inevitable; it would be unfair towards those battling his fight as the rest of the Wood Elves that would suffer the whatever consequences to come, to lie about the true circumstances. At the end of the day, it still made more sense to be slapped with the truth than to be caressed with a lie that would later on doom them all. It was time to accept the facts, and consider the chances of optimally preparing for the officially forthcoming battle. **(Maethyr = soldiers)**

"My King," Meatherion cleared his throat. "I think the wisest thing we could do in such detrimental situation we have found ourselves in, is to endeavour to locate the whirlpool of evil from which the assassin most likely came from. That would not only buy us some valuable time, but also help us determine what sort of darkness we are dealing with."

"You are right, gon Meatherion," the ruler agreed after a few seconds of brief evaluation of the preposition. "It does seem the most reasonable suggestion at the moment."

Calaron stood up from his chair and fixed his brown garment over his shoulder. "Should I summon the rest of the Council, my Lord?"

"That would be most useful," Thranduil replied and crushed in the seat in front of him, patiently waiting for Calaron to return with other members.

Not very surprisingly, the First Sage showed up mere seconds later with all seven members by his side. Thranduil resolved they must have waited just outside the chamber – not to eavesdrop on the highly classified conversation of course, but to be of quickest assistance to their King. The members walked through the door with their heavy shoulders undulating wearily against their necks while their eyes radiated concern, uneasiness, and the catching languor. Besides the Council being in its completeness (save the expired ellon), the scenery did not differ much from its previous state. The room was wrapped in woe and anguish, just as it was before, only this time both of them increased by tenfold. Even when the group of wisest and most courageous individuals of the Realm was congregated in the same room, there was a split moment of doubt they all sensed; it was a moment of cold despair that inundated all of their souls at once as if the universe was trying to give them a sign. _But what sign was it?_ After the moment had passed, they all buried themselves in their thoughts as the silence progressed. It was always unpleasant to be a part of such a meeting, especially when the incentive for the need of summoning the Council was something as dreadful as war.

None of them wanted to believe it to be true, but they were left with no choice. Regardless of how many historical events would mark the Realm (or any region for that matter), despite the fact that war quickly had a relatively positive connotation in many cases, the weight of the situation was hard to accept. Though the gathered members still had been living long enough on this Earth to remember what horrors befall a fatherland under attack, and those were not the memories they wished to bequeath to posterity. The Kingdom did, however, savour in its established reputation it had made for itself by avoiding unnecessary quarrels with any other creatures that dwelt in Middle Earth. The safety and welfare they gained in the beginning of the Third Age were warily guarded as were the borders of the Realm. They did not abide no kind of vagabonds nor overly curious voyagers to carelessly meander through their woods; even if the visitors appeared to be completely harmless, they would not wander around without being watched by at least three skilful Mirkwood guards, hiding somewhere behind the big trees that threw most appreciated shadow across the meadows during scolding hot summers. It was an unsullied repute they were exceedingly proud of, and they were not willing to give it up that easily.

"Welcome," Thranduil spoke to address the new guests. "Please, sit."

The members obeyed their King as each took a seat of their own. Some sages whispered a few words to each other, but before the mutters could evolve to anything greater, the ruler summarized the content of the previous conversation.

"I am deeply shocked by the occurrence. I would also wish to express my profound interest in how, by Gods, was this executable, and if there are any witnesses who could help us elaborate this puzzle into something more tangible. Lord Commander, the great Sage, and I have come to a decision which I find most appropriate at the time. My only command is to act soon and to act successfully. And by that I also mean you are free to use all means necessary," his voice was firm and determined which caused a desired effect on the elves in front of him. He allowed himself a short, yet powerful pause before he concluded. "Send two smaller troops to Dol Guldur, and do not dare to return empty-handed."

Of all the elves assembled in the chamber, Calaron seemed most perplexed by the King's sudden swing in the mood, though Thranduil was generally known to have his own whimsicalities now and then. But in times such as these, those kind of quirkiness were easily forgiven and welcomed, even. For, at the end of the day, what the people subconsciously needed in such vulnerable circumstances was the Elf anyone would want as a King: hot-tempered and obstinate at times, but a committed and reasonable leader. Many were still prone to forget (not to mention such behaviour likely leaded to further ignorance and apathy of the future generations to come) what truly made Thranduil who he was: a hearty ellon who was once not afraid nor ashamed to love; an intrepid warrior; and most of all – a guide to his nation. In the times of the Great crisis1 after one of the most dire wars to had ever deform the Kingdom at the end of the Second Age, he was the one to take the responsibility, and with the shattered remnants of the formerly grand army of his people returned back north where he successfully regained the strengths of once admirable Greenwood Realm.

The pleasantly surprised entity of nobles began to head towards the exit, when they were stopped by their King's stolid voice: "Oh, since you are on your way towards the military quarters; would you send for Legolas, please?"

"Certainly, my Lord," Meatherion replied, assuming the question was more or less intended for him. And with the next swing of his robe, the King was left alone in the chamber to have a little peace and quiet left for his mind.

When Legolas heard of the unfortunate matter, his instant reaction was to run to the crime scene and help bring peace to the flock of the disturbed elves. He did not intend to deepen into the reason for such monstrosity for he believed his father would take the part of the peace keeper with utter pleasure, and he turned out to had exceeded Legolas's expectations in that manner. But more than being not so surprised by his father's hidden social skills (only exploited when the need was absolutely dire), Legolas was more absorbed by the fact how _truly_ crazed with fear was the crowd that he met on his way towards the scene. How the terror of once defeated evil had leaked to the surface, and how deeply it had planted its roots into their bones; how frightened the common folk was at the mere sight of a slain ellon. Murders appeared frequently in the history of the Realm, and Legolas was sure no ordinary manslaughter could cause a wild disorder as this. This affair was indubitably going to be written in several historical tomes as one of the most shocking events to ever affect the Kingdom.

By the time Legolas merely reached the main stairway which led to the Corridors of Prophecy, he was abruptly intercepted by who proved to be none other but Tauriel herself. And even in her usually dauntless eyes he could catch a glimpse vivid fear settled inside her soul. That made him actually become worried of the situation.

"Tauriel? Man cerig hi?" he asked befuddled by her peculiar approach. **(What are you doing here?)**

"We must speak privately," was all he got in reply. "Now."

He was dragged with a stern force of Tauriel's grip in one of the dark corners of the centre hall. Even though there weren't many trespassers who could eavesdrop on the conversation of not yet defined level of confidentiality it required, the captain of the Elven army chose a specifically discreet tone in which she began the conversation between them.

"The Realm faces a grave danger," her eyes were circling around the area as if she was putting all her energy into spotting an intruder. "A danger fiercer we could ever endeavour to imagine."

"What are you speaking of, Tauriel? What is the meaning of this?"

For a short moment Tauriel could spot disbelief and incredulity in his heavenly blue eyes, indicating he thought of her actions exaggerated and inflated. But who else did she truly have to run to in case of a crisis such as this? If not her closest friend, who else would listen?  
Legolas immediately became aware of his unwanted spill of emotions, and switched the look in his eyes with a warmer, friendlier one which Tauriel much preferred.

"I am speaking of the murder, of course! Haven't you seen the outrage that emerged amongst the throng? Whispers spread of greatest evil the world has ever seen. They are starting to realize it, Legolas," her cautious green eyes narrowed. "It shall not take long before they begin to seek someone to lay the blame on."

"I believe you blew the situation out of proportion. This is rabble we are talking about; mere common folk who tends to form allegations only to please and entertain the society," Legolas replied indifferently. He grew more and more suspicious of Tauriel's irrational behaviour.

"I am not worried with what kind of folk decides to initiate a turmoil," she hurried, "I fear the consequences that would follow if such deed should enhance to a level where the situation would become unrestrained which might mean complications for the Council."

"How do you suggest we act? Prohibit them to mention the event ever again? Imagine what outrage _that_ kind of enactment would cause," the Prince disagreed.

As they were carefully hiding from curious eyes in the cold shadows of the underground palace, one thing became rawly obvious – he must have noticed the unusual reaction of the bystanders but he deliberately chose to neglect that worry. He simply forced himself to believe it was not as bad as it may seemed. When actually it was even worse. And she wondered how could she ever explain the urgency of the matter to the most stubborn ellon she had ever had the chance to meet (save his father), and for how long would he continue to cover his eyes from the truth?

"You must ride to Dol Guldur this evening," she proposed in hope that would trigger any sign of revelation in his mind.

"What? Utter nonsense."

"Can you for one second stop being so pretentious and take a look around yourself," her voice hardened, and that successfully got her to catch his attention as his eyes stabbed hers. "I cannot speak for you, but if the reason for sharing a bond of the friendship we have is the similarity of our minds, then for the love of the Gods stop being so blind. The feeling of something horrible is about to take place is hard to accept, but I beg you to consider this thoroughly. There is no time for choosing whether or not the worst shall happen – it _is already_ happening."

The austere voice in which her flagrant words were wreathed forced Legolas to obey them. He did not utter a word for a while but it was to a justifiable cause. _Perhaps all he needed was a little push_ , Tauriel thought to herself as she watched his features slowly wrinkling but the reason for the sudden frown remained unknown to her. All she was left to do was to observe him in hope to catch any sign of friendly contrition for his dense reaction or indulgence in comprehending that all she was trying to do was to bring him to his senses. She refused to believe the horrible idea of being the only one noticing the vigilant evil creeping into the halls of the Woodland's palace. An upsetting image of Legolas, Thranduil, and members of the Council roaming the Holy Corridors oblivious to what was yet to come wrapped her heart in a dreadful, clutching sensation which skulked in her chest and then escaped her ribs only to stroll down her vertebrae, manifesting as a cold, sticky sweat clinging her robe closer to her skin as she breathed. It was not an indication of fear nor panic; it was caused by a simple feeling of _helplessness_. As an acclaimed Captain of the Guard, she loathed to think she ever possessed any form of weakness – but as hard as it may was to accept it, she was elven just as anybody in these halls (with the fair exemption of perhaps the King; since he was presumed to be infallible and everything else that came with acquiring such appellation), and that resulted in possessing a few irregularities of her own. Perhaps being in the military from the day she became conscious of herself was the reason for being prone to acknowledge certain delicate matters faster and with a lighter heart than others. But as quickly as it may appear as a positive ability, Tauriel was most convinced it had its bad sides as well – for example waiting for everyone else to realise that war is upon them. _Fate_ _waits_ _for no one._

Based on her friend's ridiculous grimace, Tauriel concluded he must have come to some sort of inference by now that would benefit either his unbroken pride or her well-intentioned suggestion. Of course in hope for the latter to come to realization, she poked the Prince to awake him from his most pithy contemplation.

Before Legolas could open his mouth in order to defend his thoroughly contemplated answer, he was rather rudely poked by another, unexpected person. It seemed the two had been so in-depth with their futile conversation that it completely blocked their senses. That could have resulted in unwanted consequences if the startling person wouldn't have been a fond friend of theirs.

"My Prince," spoke the newcomer with a deep voice, gripping Legolas's shoulder, "the King wishes to see you."

Both Tauriel and her companion were caught unawares by the common acquaintance, the Lord Commander. Meatherion bowed as a greeting to the Captain who copied her superior's movements in respect as well, followed by a burning glare at his unreadable face. She tried to discern potential traces of falsehood in his statement, yet the look he used to non-verbally communicate with the Captain emitted sincerity and mild disquiet referring to the King's request.

As quickly as Legolas prepared to step out of the shadow he had been hiding in, he was stopped by the Captain, "We are not yet finished."

Despite the threatening words, he continued with his pace by Meatherion's side as they passed the hallway, endowed with the graceful glow of paraffin lamps floating around the stone pillars. Tauriel looked upon her comrades with both delight and anxiety. She enjoyed the time they spend together and was truly fond of both of them, but the greater part of her consciousness feared those merry times might be over sooner than she realized. In situations alike this, she attempted to say inspiring and encouraging words to herself as she would offer a friend in distress. The best way, she believed, one got by a certain encumbrance was to advice one's self with kindness, thoughtfulness, and patience one would use in a similar situation if the places were switched with one's friend. The best way, she said to herself, to continue was to simply erase the detrimental concerns that exhausted the last bits of energy she stored in her being. When nothing else seemed to be adequately efficient, she would find amusement and thrill elsewhere; somewhere where her heart was elated and her soul at peace. She swiftly turned her limber body in a mischievous manner as her feet took her to the lower parts of the palace, situated deep under the carved boulder – to the training field area. She suddenly felt a demanding urge to shot something.

Almost at the opposite side of the underground dwelling, the two deft elves approached the notorious chamber, now freshly decorated with guards at both entrances. It was not common for the Prince to visit the chamber where military strategies and plots were hatched, yet when need arose Legolas happily obliged to have an insight of what truly lay behind the success of the Mirkwood army. As he was guided by the Lord Commander through the second corridor, a thought flickered through his mind, a slightly obtrusive one. He deepened into the previously declared purpose of the chamber he was being led to, and from the gathered facts he deduced the feasible meaning of his father's request of his presence. Tauriel was right. They arrived to the point where they were left with no other option but to fight back against what had posed a menace to the Realm. Using all means necessary, their paramount priority was to protect the dwellers of the underground palace as the inhabitants of the Woodland Realm. Notwithstanding everything proving to be in favour of Tauriel's theory, he ruthlessly rebuffed the idea she was defending. More than being wrong, he was ailed with her theory turning out to be correct. Being a diligent warrior and war hero it was expected of him to crave war and bloodshed; though contrary to favoured opinion he very much disliked warfare and anything accompanying it, solely due to the fact he could not bare the sight of innocent folk suffering the consequences of the Council's gratuitous mistakes or anyone else's for that matter. Of course, when evil such as this was unconfined, unimpeded on its killing spree, measures had to be taken, regardless of the repercussions they may claim.

The air was dry in these parts, filled with emanating odour of ancient tomes covered in thousands of years old dust. Apart from the smell of the hoary libraries the halls had adopted, this specific section brimmed with the knowledge and proficiency stored in the aforementioned libraries, as well as other feelings the books described; the perceivable fear experienced during oodles wars these lands had faced lingered atop of the round ceiling; screams of despair lurked and skulked across the abandoned, unused space at the higher floors; the smell of once fertile and crucial soil now entirely desolated, manifesting as brown crumbs, and the taste of rotten fruit caused by the poisonous destruction brought by the war. All these sensations, feelings, and experience were the bigger part of the unwanted consequences of warfare, and likely the onliest Legolas was subconsciously prepared to see.

The King sat in his assigned seat, vacantly staring into the blank wall in front of him. The light was poor and faint, so he passed the time by playfully discerning and counting the potential cracks in the wall that was obviously beyond repair. It was in his habit to divert his great mind into doing such pointless actions barely to keep it from going entirely deranged. For all one knew, his sanity could be slowly dissipating by virtue of recent unfortunate events (that would include the immense chasm he would feel in his heart due to the loss of one of the Council members, though his sympathy was not as conventional, thus, in all likelihood, faked for the sake of his nation), or the arduous burden crushing down upon his flaccid shoulders. Boasting a greatly respected and desirable appellation brought great responsibilities and expectations along; it was expected of a figure of high influence and prominence to both maintain the relished peace and protect it. While such understandable assumptions came natural to the society, it presented a far greater challenge for the emperor to successfully fulfil those expectations. Thranduil was aware of the risk and liability the succession to the throne would bring from the moment he was informed about his father's death – when it suddenly hit him that from now on he would no longer have the great King Oropher covering his back, protecting him from harm, justifying his callow behaviour; and that from now on he was to take responsibility for his actions as well as to gather the courage to prosperously guide the Realm towards success and elation. From the beginning he knew accomplishing such ambitious goals would be no easy task, but for once in his life he felt pure obligation and duty to take care of his folk. He immediately knew what had to be done. Heedless of centuries that had passed since his unofficial coronation, in his heart that same duty remained intact, and became immune to succumbing to temptations like his pride.  
Though through the years, the duty he once thought greatly of gradually grew into a mere habit, an act of traditional protocol, and mandatory respect. In time, there was no emotion in his deeds to come – only tedious, plain accountability. Before he could stop himself from evolving into such heartless, callous being, it was far too late. And his deleterious transformation was not disregarded by the nobility.

Thranduil's nostalgic pondering was abruptly interrupted by Legolas's entrance. Judging by the look in his father's tired eyes this was not going to be one of the smoother conversations in the inventory of their interactions.

The Prince bowed in respect before addressing the matter, "You called for me, adar?"

"Indeed," Thranduil replied, and pointed to the seat across him. "Join me, please."

The actual conclave he was invited to join remained mysterious to the young warrior, though he accepted his father's kind invitation. It was not very difficult to read that this private meeting of theirs would have to do something with the recent murder, though Legolas remained carefully silent, patiently waiting for his father to initiate the discussion. His poise was soon rewarded.

"Where were you in the time of the murder?" Thranduil asked quite a fortuitous question.

The query was fairly startling, but the Prince insisted with the impassive expression. "I was practising at the training field with Adanion."

"Before you create any assumptions, I am obliged to ask this question each and every one whose presence has yet not been explained and confirmed," Thranduil clarified his previously asked question that might have provoked some unintentional obscurities.

Legolas accepted his father's clarification for the frivolous question, and now that he was cleared of any suspicion he was able to ask what bothered him from the moment he heard of the sad news. "Do you have anyone particular in your mind yet?"

"The healers took care of the ravaged body, and besides the shocking looks there were no peculiar tumults concerning the incident itself. However, the healers were unable to confirm the cause of death with the conventional methods used in performing autopsy which leads us to attribute the homicide to rather rare approach of executing a murder."

"And such approach is...?" Legolas asked, blind to his father's allusion.

"You need to understand that these matters are highly confidential, and are supposed to stay in this chamber," the King replied, hoping this time the indirect reference wouldn't pose difficulties to his son's slow perception.

"Of course, father," the Prince bent his head slightly to his right side, "you have my word."

With that said, Thranduil began explaining his self-establish conspiracy theory about what truly lay behind the cause of death of the member. Speaking of such dreadful matter elicited goosebumps to rise on his pale skin and progress all over his body.

"The usual techniques of examining a body encompassed only the common causes of death, meaning ruling out a few others; more distinct ones that would require immediate hearing of the Council and the ruler. Such forms of bloodshed occurred very rarely, though they were known to the Realm – perhaps even far too known. But it is important we consider all options before making radical decisions that would drastically change the harmony of the Woodland Realm; and we do not want such a thing."

It took Legolas a while to comprehend his father's words, and compose them in a horrendous realization of what sort of incident his father spoke of. All of a sudden, the picture became crystal clear to Legolas's eyes, and this time he did not wish to hide from it. The enormity of the crime rose to a level beyond coherent, beyond reason.

"Are the healers certain?"

"I'm afraid they are," Thranduil replied, letting out a large sigh containing worry and anxiety he was carrying within him for far too long. It was alleviating to share the burden with someone else, to pass the worry, and to rest easy for a brief moment knowing that someone else was occupied with finding a solution to it as well.

There were times in life that were considered inevitable and crucial for an intelligent being's survival. A wise thought prevailed in the ancient Elven philosophy, imposing boundaries and course of cognition to the modern savants (who also presented a part of the King's nobility) for millenniums, that a life without a challenge was no life at all. Meaning, residing in the comfortable zone, not having to deal with any kinds of inconveniences that would endanger one's existence, was not acknowledged as real life. One could not help but wonder, why did some of the greatest philosophers that had ever roamed this Earth never fight in battles? Where did their immense proficiency originated from? How could they possibly know anything about real life if they never had a mere taste of it? How could they have had the audacity to talk of peace so lightly and negligently as if they did not value its rarity? It seemed unfair and inequitable to judge situations barely on one's imagination and assessments, and having the nation to follow their appraisal with only one purpose: to preserve order and amity, and forestall anarchy before it could even occur. It seemed obtrusive, unsuitable, and incorrect to be guided by such cursory logic that applied only in the times of golden peace which, as every great ruler knew, did not necessarily mean a permanent condition of a community. Therefore, every great ruler had to have an alternative option at hand in case the community _would_ find itself at war, which was, undeniably, happening right this moment at the glorious Realm.

Legolas firmly adjusted in his seat, visibly showing his denial and refusal of accepting the conditions as they were. His hands gripped the arm rest he had used to lean his elbow on so fiercely his knuckles turned white. As much as he wanted to conceal his discontent or suppress his frustration, it was all too late for his father's eyes had noticed the Prince's sudden irritation. But little did he know of the reason for his son's discomfort; but he very much tried to.

"What ails you, my son?"

Legolas's eyes jumped to Thranduil's with bare confusion in his eyes, obscured by an unknown adversity. He had to remind himself of his father's incomplete cognisance of certain events of the past (having to do with his one-day disappearance), consequently he was forced to thoroughly estimate an appropriate answer for his father's enquiry.

"Merely how your discovery of late shall influence on further investigation of the murder," he answered, still a bit dazed, yet faithfully minding his mask.

Thranduil's leery, ever-watchful eyes narrowed to the point where the molten azure of his eyes disappeared into a crooked thin line of wrinkles, howbeit his countenance never lost its grace nor grandeur. At the roots of his gleaming flaxen hair rested two of his fingers while he supported his firm jaw with his thumb; the pose hinted at his everlasting elegance and inborn feigned peacefulness that drew even the most placid person to ever greet the King to defer to his eminence.  
But luckily, he soon abandoned the wary look which was replaced with the usual expression of stillness and disdain.

"I called for you to inform you of the army's current whereabouts; a few maethyr with Meatherion as their leader left for Dol Guldur earlier. You were detained here for a reason; I cannot afford to lose one of the best warriors the army possess. If some should return, you are assigned to await for the army's entry, and greet them at their arrival. Question them of any significant irregularities they might have noticed, and report it straight to me," the King paused to stress the importance of the incoming finish. "It has been long since we last paid a visit to the old fortress." **(Maethyr = pl. of** _ **soldier**_ **)**

To put it mildly, Legolas was fairly disappointed with the task that had been given to him; not to pride himself on being one of the most capable warrior of the Mirkwood's army (and having the King to admit that himself), but simply due to his high expectations of his father. He did not see sense in being left here while he could examine the terrain at the South much faster on his own, but then again he detested meddling in his father's commands since he believed them to be useful in ways known only to the King. He trusted the truth once said about his father that _there is not one thing he does without benefiting from it in the future._ There is reason to everything his father had done, and it must had been fate itself involved in his father's instructions that day for it had drastically changed the course of the events to come.

Just as Legolas was about to stand and prepare for his duty, the King spoke. "You are coming with me."

The Prince waited at the door for his father to explain, using a baffled expression. It truly annoyed him sometimes how he always had everything prepared in advance. How cunningly he planned every single detail; each word and each emotion were already known to him since the beginning of every conversation. It was not due to his gift of foresight but his exceptional ability of manipulation and influence.

"Where are we going?" Legolas asked once they were back at the contentious hall.

Thranduil tilted his head to his son's side with vigorous rage burning in his eyes, "We're going to find out who murdered our kinsman."

Invisible corroding stink cut into the soldiers' eyes just as they, on the third day of their quest, passed the South border of the East Bight; a scourging land full of slight strange tremors shaking the gaunt trees, later proving to be a lethal breath of nefarious winds blowing across the lands. Small infantry entered the South part of Mirkwood with hesitation and reluctance since hearing the rumours of great evil allegedly springing in these very parts did not bring much joy to their hearts. Further they pushed through the bitter wind, avoiding the fallen broken branches of the desiccated timber while the cold dug deep into their strong bones through their dense outerwear, protected by several leather layers. The day was far past dusk; a part of the usually clear, round moon (as a view from the Elvenking's palace) was now veiled behind floating grey clouds, casting a foreboding shadow upon the forest which was coated in complete darkness. Soldiers pricked their pointy ears to catch any sound coming from within the depth of the void in front of them, and hoped there shall come to no complications during their task.  
As they advanced further South, the elves experienced an incontestable magnetism toward the core of the forest, frantically dragging their lithe feet athwart the parched woods.

"Be not afraid, brothers," they heard a yell coming from ahead, "these lands are cursed; fight the force, and do not let it weaken you!"

Meatherion's expeditious movements earned him an advantage which he used to audit the lands unfolding before his eyes. What he witnessed was nothing he hadn't seen before for the past three days; more crumbling soil, desolated trees, and not a single motion. In some regards the circumstances would represent perfect conditions for a military operation, but having to deal with dark sorcery it was not much desired to receive no signs of normal life in the area for it could lead to only a few options: all living things had either fled the infected environment ere its destruction or they had been scratched from the surface in the process of it. Having such alternatives at hand, Meatherion could not decide which he hoped had happened in truth.

As he strolled the deserted lands, his memories swamped his mind that equally embraced them like soil long deprived of watering accepted fresh flood. Walking the similar path he had once already roamed, unpleasant visions of the past played before his delusional eyes; screams and rampage consumed his consciousness, forcing Meatherion to halt in his position.

" _Quickly, we have yet not escaped the danger!" cried one of the soldiers, hiding behind a large tree._

 _The crackling of dried branches and shouts of the soldiers fleeing the area filled the toxic air. Smoke enrobed everything higher than half the height of the trees in its hazy blanket, causing the gathered soldiers to slowly suffocate on the burning fume._

" _Leave me, save yourselves!" commanded another one, fatally trapped underneath an oak trunk that had collapsed during the unsuccessful escape of the four soldiers. The fallen tree was a result of the mysteriously caused wildfire that had now spread all across the Southern part of Greenwood, enfolding the group of maethyr in a ring of fire._

" _I am not abandoning you," hissed Meatherion as he used all his strength to lift the heavy burden occupying his comrade's legs. "Not until we are all safe."_

" _Listen to me," the comrade spoke with flames of the fire surrounding them reflecting in his greenish eyes, roughly clutching Meatherion's forearm to force him to direct his gaze towards him and not his bleeding limbs. "You are not abandoning me. You are abandoning_ them. _Brothers whose life you have the chance to save; their hervis, waiting for them at the palace, praying for their safe return; not lastly the nation, seeking help. You are abandoning yourself, mellon." **(Hervis = pl. for**_ **wife)**

 _A spark of hope died in Meatherion's eyes as he listened to his comrade's concluding words, yet he still refused to obey them. He would murder anyone who had the audacity to step in his way of rescuing his best friend. If he should lose him as well, as an addition to everything the war had taken from him thus far, what would he have of this life? What hope would future prayers bring if not the well-being of those closest to him? What purpose would the glorification of the supreme Gods serve if not for securing the lives of those he loved most? What purpose served life itself if it not included having friends by his side?_

" _When I tell you to run, you shall run," the comrade instructed, ignoring the shocked look from his friend, provoked by his preposterous command._

 _Since Meatherion received no sign whatsoever that would indicate travesty in his friend's voice, he continued with hoisting the enormous weight of the tree. But for Gods' sake, he wouldn't let go. He was prepared to have his arms torn out before he would give up on his friend; he would rather see his own being perish than to witness a horror of his life-long companion's death. Nothing from his earlier life was comparable to the force, the adrenaline, the aspiration to save the comrade's life he felt just then, pumping through his bulging veins. And there was nothing he wasn't prepared to do to accomplish his aim._

 _In the middle of a nearly successful lift, he was stopped by the gentle touch of the comrade's hand._

" _Stop," his voice soothed._

" _No..." Meatherion sighed in vain._

 _The future Lord Commander collapsed to his knees, crushing on the burned grass, and in order to abolish pain, closed his eyes that brimmed with tears. He eventually let go of the trunk to let the realization slowly seep in: the realization that his friend had already reconciled to his ending, and that it was time Meatherion did the same._

 _In the next thirty seconds that followed everything happened at once – the fire surrounding them was almost touching Meatherion's raiment; as he opened his smoke-irritated eyes he found the two other soldiers had already gone, and with a heavy heart he finally decided that, despite his wistful wish, the last thing his friend would see before his departure to the Halls of Mandos shall not be Meatherion's comforting face. The Lord-Commander-to-be let out the most doleful, heartrending half-scream, half-cry these lands had ever heard – to already grieve over his friend's death, to curse the damnable Gods for stealing the most precious person to had ever cross his path, and in the last bits, to swear eternal vengeance upon his comrade's grave._

" _Let go," was the last thing Meatherion heard before he noticed a burning tree in front of him slowly declining at a dangerous angle, precariously approaching the two elves._

 _His eyes rapidly drifted to his friend's which started to gently close, eluding the increasing pain. Meatherion was not sure if the sadness overcame his mind in an ill way, causing his heart to hear what it craved, or did his fading comrade truly whisper his last goodbye in their common language, despite not knowing for certain if Meatherion was still by his side. The future Commander felt a warm tear escape his burning eyes, gliding down his dusty cheek to end in the corner of his trembling lips. The softness of his touch met his comrade's ashen forehead to devote his final words, which he could not utter, through a caress. Tenderly he slid his fingers across his eyelids as a sign of an unspoken truce, some sort of silent agreement they both made mentally to ensure their souls shall part in peace. After the short contact Meatherion lifted his hand, glanced to his friend one last time, and then fled the scene._

 _He barely managed to avoid the deadly flames as he ran as fast as he possibly could. His feet took him far away from the area affected by the wildfire across the wide plains of Southern Greenwood, making him unaware of his current whereabouts. The mild confusion caused by his sudden getaway quickly disappeared for he found himself at the very South of Rhovanion he and his comrades have been strolling for the past months due to the ferocious war that raged between the Elves and Dark Lord Sauron. His feverish disorientation was soon replaced by awe and amazement of the sight boasting in front of him; great river Anduin, majestic in all its glory, flowed at the end of the plain Meatherion has just crossed. Vague sprinkles of forest spirits danced along with the river flow, conjuring most enchanting view. Before he could ran towards the body of water, consuming its almost forgotten taste, his eyelids closed, bearing the beautiful sight in his mind, and the feeling of floating inundated his body._

"Lord Commander?" one of the soldiers repeated himself for the third time, slightly irritated by his superior's unresponsiveness.

"Forgive me," the Commander uttered, completely overwhelmed by the power of his mind. "We continue along the forest path."

"But, my Lord, we _have_ reached the end of the path," stated the young maethor. **(Maethor = soldier)**

Meatherion took a look around him to find the soldier's words correct; the infantry had arrived to Dul Guldur, the ancient haunted fortress. The surroundings were just as Meatherion had remembered them, only with less trees and shrubs. His slender body turned to the gathered group of elves who did not show a single sign of fright or qualm – at least not in their leader's presence. Meatherion thought to himself that perhaps he _missed_ the way the Royal Army was; full of endeavour and intrepidity. He still thought of the contemporary army to be well-trained, courageous, and fearless, but something was missing; that small, ostensibly insignificant detail which combined an army into its triumphal completeness. After he gave it some thought, he discovered that the missing element appeared to be pure benevolence as he knew it. The possible controversy of the current army perhaps hid in the fact that these soldiers had never tasted war. They had never experienced the raw instinct for survival and the ravenous drive for killing. They had never swathed their own comrades in sheer layers of bandages with their trembling hands, feeling the touch of death slowly creeping around their neck, and being utterly useless once their friend was beyond aid. One was never prepared for war; not even Meatherion, regardless of the years spent in this profession. And one could only hope they would never have to face its horrors.

With a faint gesture of his arm Lord Commander ordered the infantry to march ahead. Once again, the only thing resonating across the lands was the rhythmic stomp of their feet as they passed the border of the forest at the far South. They were greeted by a vast plain with infirm trees at its side, bewitching an eerie aura around the recently arrived infantry. Dark, sinister swirl of clouds gathered above the once mighty stronghold, embedding angst into the soldiers' bones who incessantly proceeded towards the source of evil.

Yet even though the infantry's movement was stout and precise, there was something that disturbed Meatherion's peace. It could be the forest disease attempting to tarnish his mind or there could be something truly peculiar about the place; something that appeared to be inconsistent with the spirit of this haunted area. An occurrence not only quaint for these parts, but Middle Earth in general. A sweet, soft sensation flooded Meatherion's mind and vision that consisted of serenity, piety, and warmth Lord Commander had not felt in decades. Such state could be achieved only when some form of wizardry was involved, and that was a rare occurrence to confront simply by chance or accident. The overwhelming sensation awoke a feeling of _pulling_ inside him, cordially dragging him towards the fortress upon the hill. The force was strong and unrelenting, and eventually passed on to the soldiers as well. Their insufficient and inept knowledge of encountering such emotions incited panic amongst the infantry; they did not know how to defend themselves nor how to react to the overpowering sensation, so they simply fluttered their slim arms around themselves, hoping that would prompt the invasion in their minds to evaporate. But the closer they approached the fortress (despite the inconvenience, Meatherion commanded them to continue with the march), the stronger the sensation clutched their minds.

The gripping force was not exactly unpleasant, but it annoyed the maethyr for it hindered their concentration on the task they had been given. They may not had been in full possession of the facts concerning the assignment, but it mattered not; the diligent maethyr were trained to obey the orders, not to question their purpose.

In less then ten minutes they reached the hill of dark sorcery, and were confronted with the stone bridge leading the way into the heart of the fortress. Just as they were about to pass the high stairs at the side of the fortress, surrounding the area in the centre of the stronghold, the group of elves descried beams of heavenly pure white light, seeping through the chipped pillars and up into the grey blanket of clouds. The group discerned it must have originate from the heart of the citadel as a limitless supply of energy. Promptly they lifted their feet, and flew towards the source with great haste, leaving behind only crumbled ash.

As they anxiously followed the light, eagerly craving to discover the cause of such extraordinary occurrence they witnessed, the glow became more powerful, biting, and dazzling, making the soldiers become disoriented and confused. While they continued to assiduously stare into the blinding light, Meatherion moved a step further towards the centre of the stronghold. Of all the elves gathered, he was most greedy to disclose the meaning of this distraction that managed to so severely agitate his underlings. He encountered the befallen "miracle" only once in his entire lifetime; towards the end of the War of the Last Alliance he had detected a faint sprinkle of white light leaking through the moving figures that belonged to vicious breed of Orcs. It appeared as if the light itself had battled the enemies of the Last Alliance, coming to the aid of Elves and Men who had united for the last time. Meatherion had been too weary to follow the mysterious light's movements as it slew the giant Orcs, but just before he had retired from the battle, following the crowd of Elves abandoning the battlefield, he took one last glance at the scenery behind him, and saw the most beautiful sight one could only hope to witness during such gory bloodshed. A herd of the captivating mearas danced around the area full of malodorous bodies laying slain on the exhausted ground, pursuing the last members of Sauron's forces across the plains of Dagorlad. Due to the rapidly progressing group, he was forced to step up in order to catch the rest of his kinsmen. But that one single glance at the majestic creatures conquering the area remained in his mind for all times.

Drifting back to reality, he became aware of the similarity between the two lights. Immediately he raced for the gleaming centre again, leaving the rest of the panting infantry far behind him. His heard yearned for the feeling he only experienced once; he _needed_ to behold the light, and bathe in all its majesty and beauty one more time. The chase of the feeling was addictive, almost obsessive. There was just something hiding behind it, some intangible detail that awoke the joy within him, that unparalleled delight and elation. He reached the bottom of the stone stairway guiding him to his desired destination, but what awaited him in the circle, enriched with ethereal light, could not compare to the shock he first felt when beholding the light for the second time in his life.

In the middle of the dirty ground his eyes were focused on, Lord Commander distinguished two bodies wrapped in each other's arms, surrounded by three mearas, casually resting at their side. The horses neighed at the arrival, showing their displeasure and irritation at the prying being so carelessly disturbing their peace. One of them even jumped to its feet to present its strength was not a virtue to be reckoned with. The mearas were known to be quite determined in any dealings with others, unless that _other_ proved to be worthy of their time. Nonetheless, such occurrences were regarded more as a rarity than privilege, hence Meatherion's shock.

Discreetly he took a step further down the stairway, wishing to get a closer look of the unbelievable scenery. Yet the closer he was getting to the pair of bodies, clearer did the features on one of the bodies became. With consternation the Commander identified the male-elf lying unconscious next to an auburn-haired elleth facing the approaching Commander with her back, clad in a brown robe. The realization hit him just as hard as if he pushed his head through the stone wall on his left that instant; his heart crushed under the weight of it, paralysing his arms and lungs for it seemed the sight took his breath away. After the first moments of shock were over, he was able to function properly again. Using the retrieved abilities, he pushed himself forward, all the way to the bottom of the circle. Ignoring the enraged horses (offended by the intrustion now all of them on their feet), he glided to the weakened ellon, and pulled him to his arms. He appeared to be still breathing which made the corners Meatherion's lips slightly curl upwards, yet the lifting of his chest was faint and shallow.

"Edenir!" he shouted, "Edenir, can you hear me?"

Edenir's eyes carefully opened to the blindness surrounding him, but they focused on the form above them – a rather familiar form, which caused agitation and discomposure to rise within him. The withered warrior reacted in panic and fear, thinking the Necromancer was playing tricks on his mind yet again, only this time it was no illusion. Despite wanting to ward off the imposter, his arms did not obey him. But in the next moments of compelled stillness, the features began to clarify, separating themselves from the dazzling light. It _was_ truly his friend, hovering above his dusty face, though his lips seemed to be uttering something Edenir was not able to discern, since his hearing was still not fully recovered.

"By Gods, you're alive!" Meatherion cried of joy, clutching his face.

After a few seconds, Edenir finally appropriately heard his friend and his comforting words. Even though he was glad to see a familiar face, especially an old, fond friend of his, his limbs still felt trapped as if crushed by an immense weight. His mouth, however, were not entirely disabled, so he felt he owed his friend at least a word of explanation or sign of complete confusion of his whereabouts as the meaning of this much appreciated, coincidental meeting.

"Me-Meatherion?" he spoke silently, but his friend caught the words just in time before demanding the belated infantry to calm the horses, and take care of the elleth beside him.

"Just so!" Lord Commander squealed.

It took Edenir a full minute of intense concentration and trouble before he was able to speak again, this time loudly and clearly, "Where is she?"

1The event is entirely fictional.


	6. Chapter 6

**Even though it's been a while I hope you are still thrilled about the story (as much as I am) for things are getting pretty tense in the palace. I would still love to hear some of your thoughts/comments/replies on the story, because it really motivates me and helps me evolve as a writer.**

 **Now on with the story!**

* * *

Chapter 6

As a first plain reaction, sudden bewilderment struck the Lord Commander, producing a confused expression on his tired features. Seconds after the initial impulse, the confusion was ousted by sheer incompetence to find an appropriate answer to his friend's question in an adequate amount of time. His inability of finding an apposite response emerged not only in his mind but was also exposed on his face. The hurried wrinkling of his forehead and the impenetrable crinkles at the corners of his mouth indicated that Meatherion was absolutely clueless about the stated question. Of course these feelings occurred before Meatherion used that bit of sense left to realize the subject of the question was most likely the young elleth he ordered to be taken care of. Perhaps it was due to those quickly replaced signs of frustration, caused by his dismay at the recent discovery that one of his oldest and dearest friends was still alive, why he was unable to fully concentrate on what Edenir had asked him; perhaps it had to do with an odd feeling of undefined expectations of what he might find at the bottom of that circle, and the joy he felt at the revelation, that he completely neglected all outer factors that might spoil this moment.

Yet Meatherion's selfishness and possessiveness were not the only reason why he was so surprised at Edenir's query; it was also on account of his deficient knowledge of Edenir's personal life after their connections had shredded, after they had been sundered by the will of war, why the question was just as mysterious to him as the meaning of this discovery. The friendship of the two elves had preserved just as long as their partition had lasted, and the sum of the decades that had huddled since the last time they saw each other's faces escaped them both. The very roots of their acquaintance reached far back since the elves became aware of the growing threat at the end of the Second Age, forced to forge an alliance with the Free People of Middle Earth as a response to the danger of conquest by the Dark Lord Sauron. The mightiness and potency of the freshly built alliance was deemed unparalleled for many centuries to come with a notable exemption of the time when Lord Elrond of Rivendell and Glorfindel of Imladris joined their elven forces to drive away the Witch King all the way to the walls of Carn Dum. The war had claimed an abundance of years they could have spent together; it had separated them in the most ambiguous circumstances which inflicted both of them with a raging storm of doubts. The storm would continue to ravage their devastated souls and torment their restless minds for a couple of centuries, but in time they both became guilty of the crime of forgetting the colour of each other's eyes, of pushing the dreadful pain of the last memory they possessed of each other into the darkest corners of their minds for the sake of their own lives. What they had done was not to be mixed with negligence or abandonment of the carefully nourished friendship in the past, but a predictable course of nature – an inevitable repercussion they could not have avoided. When such terrible thing as war transpires, each man is to take care of himself and assign his well-being as a priority. No one possesses the gift of influencing the future before it takes place as it is of no one's place to carelessly deal out appraisal and judgement before being privy to all known facts.

As strange as the coincidental happenstance appeared to the two elves, it was certainly not as coincidental concerning the part _fate_ had played in this chance meeting. Sometimes at first most nonsensical events would follow to be the ones carrying crucial significance to the further flow of fate.

"Everything is alright, mellon," Meatherion comforted his wounded companion, ignoring the half-concern, half-threat in the voice had Edenir used to ask for his daughter.

"I need to see her," Edenir pleaded, "I need her by my side."

After the rest of the army had arrived, they ascended down the winding stairs to help out their commander with the injured elf beneath him. When they reached his side, Meatherion simply handed them the Dragon Slayer, clad in its leather scabbard of golden embellishments, and devoted his attention to the struggling friend again. At first, he paid no mind to the thing he had just handed to his inferiors, but the aghast gasps of awe and admiration coming from their mouths caused the irritated Lord Commander to turn his head back to the elf he had passed the famous sword to.

"Mana na roeg?" **(** **What seems to be the matter?** **)**

The curious three elves admiring the Dragon Slayer with glowing, round eyes, turned to the Lord Commander in surprise, similar to children caught in the middle of a play. Disturbed in the middle of a discussion of the sword's origin, the elves' necks turned a shameful hue of scarlet red and let go of the sword in an almost exact moment, causing the weapon to drop on the floor with a distinct tumult. The Lord Commander's gaze at the ashamed elves stiffened fiercely.

"Úqua, nín hir," all three replied, adding, "mín nant tiriel en megil." **(Nothing, my Lord, we were just observing the famous sword)**

That being said, his glance slid to the weapon lying abandoned on the ground, covered in the fallen autumn leaves from past seasons. The great warrior did not doubt the unusual length and the hard steel of the sword meant some special, unknown connotation was drawn to the mighty weapon, yet somehow it did not induce the same fascination his fellow soldiers felt when they first set their gaze on the thing. When Meatherion's meagre interest in the weapon had drained, he focused on Edenir once again, leaving the trio behind him to their growing enthrallment.

As if their souls had been possessed by some wickedness prowling in the very depths of the exquisitely forged steel, their eyes seemed glued to the mysterious weapon. Slowly, a member of the group of three dragged the sword out of its masterfully designed sheath and dropped it on his unoccupied palm with great care and devotion, his action reminiscing a fresh mother holding her infant in the warmth of her embrace for the very first time. The soldiers did not move for an inch; the only thing that might have indicated they were still alive was the rhythmical, almost inconspicuous lifting of their broad chests and the pounding vein at the side of their necks. Their expectations were fully repaid with interests: as the ellon brushed the blade against the leather sheath to rescue it from the darkness it had been unfairly trapped in, the sword glowed in all its glory and power, despite the moonlight being rather faint and mellow. Once the soldier, that had gathered the courage to execute this perilous deed, felt the sword was nearly completely out of its case, he finally acknowledge the full weight of the weapon. The minute the tip of the blade left the leather case, which recklessly fell to the floor, the soldier skilfully wield it in a single twist of his supple wrist; the sudden movement, accompanied by his comrades' sighs of rapture both of the magnificence of the sword as the person who chose wield it, awoke some sort of vigour and agility within the soldier's body. The feeling could only be described as a sensation of becoming aware of an ability that used to be unknown, unidentified and hiddenup until this moment – now seeking its freedom in the outer world; as a dose of exaltation reviving the body from its previous dull state. Such experience could strike a person who is not used to such wave of energy as overwhelming, somewhat exhausting even. But just as the power encouraged the bold maethor to believe he could ever possess such ability, it also _drained_ the present energy he carried. It efficiently prevented the wielder from knowing its hidden negative effects by concealing it with the prevailing emotion of ostensible competence.

Continuing with the observation and occasional swings of the majestic sword, the maethor became unexpectedly perceptive of the haze that covered his consciousness in a dense, humid mist corroding his insides. In a matter of moments, his head felt dizzy and heavy under its own weight, as though the muscles in his neck suddenly loosened against his will. His stout shoulders, known for their immense strength and endurance, collapsed before his eyes, along with the sword. The unexpected flabbiness of his muscles surprised the maethor who was previously abound in flamboyant bravado; now he was completely puzzled by the outcome of his earlier overcoming semblance of divine supremacy. Outraged and chagrined, he sensed gloomy vibrations radiating from within his chest, anger and resentment towards something known only to the ellon engulfed his corrupted spirit. He quickly became aware of his surroundings and his two friends staring at him with their inquisitive eyes, thoroughly examining his posture that was contorting in obvious displeasure. They had never witnessed such odd occurrence before, neither did the wielder himself ever experience such discomfort and something he could narrow it to feeling _unwanted_ as if the sword was trying to repel the intruder. Not long after he had begun to suffer its negative sides and abortively trying to deny the idea of the sword possessing even a tiniest flaw whilst blinded by its unequalled appeal, the young maethor put the cursed blade back to where it belonged; if not in the hands of those worthy of it, then hidden and sealed from unwelcome eyes in its soft case.

"Prestad?" the bold soldier turned his head to the two gawking elves after getting rid of the sword with aversion. **(Is there trouble?)**

The pair lowered their heads to humbly express their apology as their shame to their haughty comrade. With that gesture they also strived to avert any further complications their friend might cause while he was still under the influence of the bad experience. They were more than fully aware (and often brutally reminded in case of their forgetfulness) of their friend's bad temper and his fragile pride which he gingerly guarded from harm at all times, hence picking their next movements with meticulous caution. Without words they silently nodded to each other to agree they shall speak of the matter no more, though the images of their friend's face when he felt the power swell in his veins could not be so easily effaced. Being recruited to the Royal Army at a relatively young age enabled the two elves to taste the bitterness of the effects war brought along first-handedly; and even though the ellyn that were chosen to serve in the name of the Woodland Kingdom were deemed fearless and resilient, events such as these would still shock them to their bones. Whatever they had been trained for, whatever they had been told at the training field surrounded by masters of varied combat skills and veterans of warfare, it could never _truly_ prepare them for what was out there. Regardless of being practically born into merciless military life (thus gaining great knowledge of how to convert fear into a controlled, beneficial emotion), until they had faced the foul breath of the putrid evil hand to hand, their training could be regarded only as preparations alone. The great masters that were appointed to each group of sixteen freshly enlisted soldiers, are at the start of each recruitment season given long and thorough instructions of a tedious process of properly fortifying and educating the young, eager elves; but even though the masters and the famous war heroes were performing their duties with passion and respect, a dark and gloomy stain spread within them with each season as they took a look at the novices. _So full of life and bravado,_ the tutors often thought to themselves when the time of the training arrived. They were very conscious of the fact how easily both of those concepts could be broken or even worse, _changed_ into something unrecognisable and foreign, something none of those newcomers could ever predict. Of course, if every soldier knew in advance of what awaits him at the battlefield and what price the loyalty claimed, the Realm would soon find itself deprived of an army; unable to defend itself. So how on this Earth could they ever return courage and fortitude into their young, gullible hearts to regain their faith into the military force? Easy: simply bribe or convince some of the retired warriors with words full of sweet promises to turn the Royal Army into something it once was – Middle Earth's greatest defence and offence.

Those particular two elves, now strolling the higher floors of the ruinous stronghold of Dol Guldur under the command of their leader, were a perfect example of the newest generation of the Woodland Realm's inhabitants – somehow lost, a bit lethargic, and not bold enough to ensue the footsteps of their forefathers who had rescued their freedom from the grim claws of the shadow with blood and sweat, and whose deeds were not remembered nor respected appropriately enough. As a result of such dereliction of ancient traditions which had persisted for as long as both Sindar and Silvan kins themselves, the ellyn of today did not know true value of peace and independence that had established the suitable environment for the future generations to come, obtained with streams of elvish blood. The elders of the Realm believed this to be the only way they could provide better conditions for their descendants and likewise secure the line to the throne. Many of the Free People believed the Woodland elves to be reckless, not so wise and composed in the decisions regarding the welfare of their nation, and no matter how determined to offer the Realm the best they could, still too brusque in that manner. But those who had such beliefs forgot one great attribute of the elves – their unconditional perseverance that passed on with each generation born inside the boundaries of the Realm. Those unbelievers who doubted their resolution with unfounded claims might have said plenty of sharp words in the past, but they could never steal the undying faith and devotion from the hearts of elves. Each individual maethor acquired a certain supply of noteworthy skills otherwise he would not occupy the honourable position of a solider of the Woodland Realm; all they needed was a little bit of encouragement, and fate shall undoubtedly see to it that their clandestine courage will spring to surface when the time comes.

By the time the two tall elves reached the highest stairs leading to the entrance of the stronghold in front of the stone bridge, the unidentified, flame-haired elleth had already begun to regain her consciousness; first manifesting as vague, nebulous mist of identical shapes swirling above her. As soon as Aireiel merely formed a plan in her head of moving her body slightly to the right to avoid the utterly rough gravel underneath her, the sharp pain emerging from all of her joints and deep tissue weakened her and nudged her back towards the hard ground with relentless force. Her sudden immobility released panic and irritation deep within her chest, slowly progressing towards her limbs which flew mindlessly in her thoughts, but in reality remained still as a statue. Being captured in her own body, unable to orientate in the obscure environment, left her frustrated about the movements of those odd shapes that began to become more distinct each time she blinked. It annoyed her to be this helpless yet aware of everything that moved around her while she observed it with half closed eyes. Her nearly completely erased memory of the past events was not of much use when she futilely tried to remember the place to palliate the burgeoning fear of uncertainty, despite telling herself to remain calm and fearless. She did not recognize the shapes attired in the colour of the brown forest soil and the gold of the leaves glistening in the soft autumn sunlight (the distinctive colours of the Woodland Realm), but she concluded that if they wished any harm upon her they would had done it already. That thought soothed further concerns regarding the imposters, though something was still bugging her; preventing her from getting the calmness and focus she lacked.

Without any warning, cruel realization settled in her mind as she suddenly thought of her father who was partly the reason she was here. The image of the last time she saw his ever-mollifying face while still against her own will violently entered her mind. The unfortunate side effect one might suffer after confronting a brief amnesia is the vivid, fortuitous eruption of the memory one was recently deprived of by cause of some unnatural incident. This was the same effect Aireiel was undergoing in that very moment, and she did not enjoy one bit of it, no matter how long and how hard she had prayed to regain the lost memory; it was not in the least pleasant nor helpful since her brain was too busy easing the pain (caused by the acquisition of her memory) to absorb any useful information she could gather from it. Once her brain had decided to simply go with the disturbing ache that beat against her temples to the quick pace of her heart, she tried to focus on a specific recall relating to the senseless argument she had with Edenir, moments before the rest of the memory turned to an ominous blackness of howling whispers and sighs. The recall helped her remember small details of the incentive for the action, awaking the identical feelings she had stored at that moment that occupied her thoughts in the present.

 _An enduring, unremitting pulling towards the heart of the evil that preyed on the forest rose within her; a dragging which would be useless to declare resistance upon – she knew when a battle was lost. Secretly prowling dark energy (which was assured to be oblivious to the labile elleth) invaded her subconsciousness and tasted her intact mind that was no longer immaculate with its mucilaginous tongue; it detected weakness and subordination to whatever would come to wish her harm; she would bend to its will at the end, whimpering for mercy. Disgusting_ fear _inundated its taste buds as the thing abhorred to her glaring fragility and unbelievable proneness._

Exceptional blood may run through her veins, yet her demeanour proves her unworthy of it, _hissed the echoing voice to itself while exploring the rest of her flawed mind._ We shall put her to a test; a challenge which shall expose both her devotion and vacillation; this way not only she but her father as well will become conscious of the weakness that ills her. We shall let her blindly lead herself into the doom of her own kin and blood, and mindlessly drive herself to her ruin. Oh yes, _it grinned,_ she will soon begin to grasp her inevitable fate she cannot hide from much longer.

Progressing pain knocking inside her head produced a loud incessant ringing in her ears, eroding her brain and impairing her vision. Remembering those excruciating moments worsened her already feeble breathing that had become shallower with each rasping pant. Her chest started to sink within itself, unable to suck in adequate amount of air which caused Aireiel's face to turn to a dangerous mixture of white and purple. A roaming soldier passed the resting elleth and fleetingly glanced at her to make sure she was still alive (as Lord Commander specifically ordered) when, in fact, her life was hanging by a thread. The maethor jumped to the suffocating elleth to gently take her unmoving face into his hands, gliding at the side of her head.

"Hîr gon!" the soldier desperately shouted to the circle where his superior was located, but he was too far away and too busy resurrecting his friend to pay attention to anything else. In response, other maethyr, assigned to guard the bridge, raced to his comrade to offer him their aid, but once they saw what or rather _who_ needed help, fear moored in their glowing eyes. The ellon holding Aireiel's face in his hands peered over to his comrades in expectation, but in return he received cold looks full of fright and indecision. _How could they hesitate to save a life for even a second?_ he mentally questioned and examined other soldiers that had arrived to the scene. **(Lord Commander!)**

Shocked and trapped in an inescapable anguish, the brave soldier began to form his arms together and intertwine his fingers in a fist, pressing it against the elleth's chest. The observers merely stood locked in their position, their gazes fixed on their comrade beneath him, nervously expecting his next actions with both great admiration and fear. Only then, when pressing his fist fiercely against Aireiel's chest in continuous movements, the young ellon realized the true nature of the army he had been accepted in. How could have he ever believed in the renowned mightiness of the Royal Army? How could have he been even for a second blinded by its apparently waned prestige and the honour it would bring him once he would fully commit by declaiming his vows? His own shame, outrage, and sour disappointment took him back to the memories of his early infancy; an enthusiastic, courageous, gallant boy who made a promise to himself of bringing eternal honour and dignity to his family by joining the military. But he was deceived; how shamefully had he been led into believing that entering the eminent profession would bring him closer to the Gods and their glory, how he would offer his life in exchange to protect their name and serve on their behalf. Yet the purposes of those superior to him were cautiously veiled from his eyes. After all, the best way a maethor could prove himself worthy of the vows he had taken in front of the Gods was to never question the commands, let alone the executor of the deed, but to merely obey his King and the will of the Gods.

Bitter tears of hope filled his widely open eyes as he pushed harder to awaken the elleth from her sleep, checking her pulse and breathing every ten seconds. Carefully, he placed his pointed ear near her parted lips to find a puny, warm breath escape her mouth. Gripping force released his heart, and within the next second he lifted Aireiel's back to press it against his flat, muscular forearm; that way he enabled her to take in as much air into her crushed lungs as she possibly could. Her eyes were closed due to the insufferable pain that now slowly began to disappear, but she made sure her pale lips were open enough to welcome air into her lungs. The young soldier had never experienced helping someone escape assured death before, and the feeling of relief and appreciation filled his heart immediately the elleth began to let the moonlight peek into her eyes.

"Mana bragant?" a husky voice whispered. "Mi van me?" **(What happened? Where are we?)**

When her eyes flew to the maethor's face, she panicked inside and her rescuer could feel the tension that arose in her muscles, even if they were not moving. With a lulling voice he assured her she was safe from harm, but indecisiveness about trusting the moderately fair-looking ellon still dwelt in her hazel eyes. She was unable to remember nor comprehend the reason (if there was any at all) behind what had just transpired but somehow she felt sincerity in the soldier's voice. _If they wished me harm, they would've done it by now,_ she reminded herself of her own words.

The bleak look she had devoted to the soldier holding her began to evaporate as the strain in her muscles loosened, making her become aware of her structure again. To shake off the unpleasant jelly feeling overcoming her body (as the result of successfully dispelling the tension from her muscles) she reluctantly pushed herself out of his embrace (saddened by the sudden lost of the warmth his arms generously provided), jolted her limbs rather impatiently, and then stretched her body like a cat that had just awoken from its afternoon nap. Aireiel looked around to find more curious soldiers staring at her, and it was rather difficult to discern who exactly did they devote their surprised glances to; her or the ellon beside her, being just as confused as she was. Deciding she must put an end to this redundant confusion that sprouted among the crowd, she, heedless of the still present dizziness (even when sitting on the ground), stood up with her shoulders deliberately widened to emphasize that, genuinely, she did not need help from any ellon for that matter, and that she can manage on her own quite well. But her bravery proved to be merely a disguise as the feebleness of her bones forced her back to the ground, and if it weren't for that damned maethor she would've fallen flat on her bottom. Depriving her of that utter shame, the elf brought her back to his arms, now both of them awkwardly standing up in his embrace. For a brief moment she caught his gaze directed towards her, and she could detect a gentle, yet bright spark of mockery combined with the right amount of courtesy glowing in his penetrating eyes. To avoid further embarrassment harming her already wounded pride, she straightened her back, letting her rescuer know she will manage to stay on her feet this time. A quick smile graced his face, and for some reason it seemed to her as if he too was somewhat genially upset about releasing her from his arms; leaving her to explore the terrain on her own.

Aireiel did just so; she clumsily shifted one foot in front of the other to survey the devoured vicinity, seeing only more ruin and beaten trees and crumbled soil. With each fragment she captured with her eyes it all came back to her – all the inexplicable rush and adrenaline; the ill-advised desertion of her father; painful force taking control over her mind. It all combined into one giant puzzle she was not able to complete entirely by herself, and there was only one person who could assist her at sorting the mystery out.

Hysterically she started to spin around in hope to catch a glimpse of her beloved father. By the time all hope had faded from her eyes, she spotted two figures lying on the ground in a circle that was in the middle of the fortress. No second look was needed for Aireiel lunged towards the stairs with breath caught in her throat; she felt a grip inside her knees, rigorously clinging to her kneecaps as she made her way down the granite stairway with her arms flying around her waist. The speed, that was able to enliven the elleth's skeletal muscles which earlier did not make any sign of properly functioning, now brought her to her father's lying figure. She urged him not to move as she gently took him in her arms, ignoring the shocked expression on Meatherion's face.

"Ada!" she cried. "Ada, can you hear me?"

And as if in that very moment some magical power percolated through Aireiel's hands into his frail and bruised body, Edenir gathered the unimaginable strength to put himself back on his feet. The vulnerability of his bones did not abate, and despite of the dizziness clouding his senses, he courageously propped himself on her right arm offered to him. Assisting him with his ponderous ramble around the circle, Aireiel decided to ask the questions that took deep root in her mind; questions that demanded immediate answers which will add another piece to the puzzle her life had become in the past few days.

"What were you doing up here, father?" she asked him with her gentle voice while supporting her father with both of her arms.

Edenir chose not to respond instantly; firstly because he deepened into his own thoughts of doubt, caused by her question, and secondly because he did not know the correct answer himself. The event left him aghast and generally exhausted, thus making him unable to properly react to his daughter's enquiry; his brain was preoccupied processing the meaning of this incident in the past to focus on what was going on in the present. His silence disturbed Aireiel, making her believe he was still too fragile to even relive those horrible memories on his own, let alone discuss them with her, even though she played a big role in the recent events. She decided she ought to give him enough time to reflect on the event by himself before he consults his daughter. She was aware that this particular topic might be a bit overwhelming for her father, but she also believed it called for urgent discourse as soon as possible and that she will not be able to hold all those burdensome questions inside of her for much longer.

The past week of their usually mundane life was gruelling for both of them, draining their energy and consuming their soul more every hour. Each passing day brought more unanswered questions, more groundless suspicion, and more quivering fear of not knowing who's out there that might want them harm. They had a very good reason to believe something _does_ want them harm, and the more they were sure about it the more they were bothered with additional questions; _how did they find us? Can it be the ungrateful and resentful lords from the past that would want their final reprisal? What sort of magic appeared on that hill_ _and what is its purpose?_ _Why would anyone ever want us harm_ _at all_ _?  
_ Aireiel knew awaking those questions won't make things better nor will they clear this mess up, but she was certain she was asking the _right_ questions. She was certain there was something foul here; and whenever they encountered something foul, it always had to do with their past.

Shivers crept upon her left arm as she thought of the past. Not all of it was bad though. Throughout the years spent only with her father she made sure she created a special place in her mind for the happy memories as well; memories of the time when her family was happy and gratified and most importantly – whole. She gladly reminisced about those times, even though she was not sure she will ever feel that same happiness again. But now, she had one particular fragment in mind. A gloomy day, she recalled. Mist and frost sunk around Cerin Amroth where Aireiel liked to spend her time as a child. Each free moment she could steal from being delimited by the maids and au pairs smothering her she would use to escape to that hill. It was as if it called to her; sad, yet powerful and increasing wails would echo across the valley surrounding the hill; yearning calls only her ears could hear. They would come at the most unusual times: sometimes during noon when she was forced to develop her musical talents with silver harps and flutes (occasionally her parents would dare to go so far to make her perform in front of an audience full of highly important individuals; it was around that time when Aireiel chose to fully abandon her greatly praised talent and decided to hate music for all time); and at times in the middle of the night. When the voice called, she felt obliged to soothe its misery, to offer comfort, and to assuage whatever pained it. And whenever she was either detained or simply refused to come to its aid, it would punish her with more sleepless nights. She was chained to it, and through the years she believed the voice was secretly trying to befriend her, when in reality it made her addicted. For the midnight howls and midday chanting were not a reflection of a friendly spirit or a fairy as she found herself believing, but of a dark apparition aspiring to claim her soul. Eventually it succeeded and soon gained access to the mind of a couple-of-centuries old lassie who was simply known for having occasional severe headaches.

" _Aireiel, milui, do not stray too far," she heard her father's voice in the distance. **(Milui = Darling)**_

 _The child merely scoffed at his worried voice, oblivious to his concern as she ran towards her freedom. The forest accepted her with its long branches, producing a shelter around her, and she knew she was now truly home. Aireiel never pictured a home as a four-walled cage where she would feel nothing but anxiety and angst, but rather a place that would offer her enough space and quiet that she could find the peace her soul sought with every fibre of her being. The forest afforded her everything she needed: the soft, tall grass would serve her as a pillow when her body demanded rest; the brightness of a morning sky would offer her light and the sparkles of a silver moonlight would kiss her face in the lone evenings; the tall mallorn trees would shelter her from harm; and the lament of the skilled minstrels that were the forest birds would sing her to sleep. She's always felt somehow connected to the forest, therefore she would never think of it as her adversest foe._

 _Before she entered the forest wilderness she recollected her father's look; she sensed he was against the idea of letting her roam the cursed hill on her own, but he could not bear the idea of stealing her that little of happiness she had left. She'd suffered too much already. Edenir knew she was never meant for this life; it unfolded in her attitude and demeanour. Her disposition called for the smell of nature, the touch of the morning dew, and the affirmation of the spirit of Yavanna close to her. It was like trapping a bird into a cage; a wild spirit was never meant to be caged. Yet it happened all the same.  
Aireiel hated the bitter idea of disappointing her father. She loathed to think of him having to deal with her frivolous blunders because she was not able to take care of herself. But there was a whole world out there ready for her, calling to her. How could she possibly gather so much acrimony and enmity in her heart to mar the only thing that ever showed her any sign of acceptance? _

_As painful as it was to know she will be forced into having no other option but staying here for at least another couple of centuries she could not imagine it without her family by her side. Spending time with her brother and sister opulently contributed to her happiness and health, yet sometimes she felt a lack of understanding and affinity when being with her siblings. It was not due to her common reluctance and obstinacy, but having to do with their relationship in general; they were never quite close, yet blood boiled in her veins to think something might happen to them. She never thought of them as her best nor the greater part of her day, but life without them would seemed vacant nonetheless. And despite everything, a wall existed between them, a vast hole in her heart where fondness of her family should have been. She found an effective solution to that problem in a heartbeat._

 _Her heart sang with joy and fluttered like the wings of the white doves in the West when she reached her favoured meadow. Blades of grass brushed against her bare calves, exposed by the cause of her hands swiftly lifting the hem of the white lacy dress to make the running easier and more convenient. If it were up to her, she would spend all her days in plain breeches and loose blouses all the ellyn at the court wore. She found that extremely unfair and brutal. Why would someone want to bereave her of the simple pleasure of running around in joy by forcing her to wear such complicated garment?_

 _Even though the lands merely welcomed spring, and she knew she was perhaps too hasty about bathing in the warm summer sunlight, she was quite displeased with the sky on that day. Her senses intensified and focused on the simplest sounds of the nature, hoping to understand its sudden sorrow that had swaddle it. With a lump in her throat she soon realized there were no merry little birds cheeping this morning to greet her, no fluffy hares and diffident does to escort her through the forest path, no fresh breeze coming from the Western Seas to caress her knobbly infant cheeks. Her usually amiable hazel eyes darkened to a dangerous shade of threatening brown in an instant. Fresh panic robbed her of her breath, and as she tried to move her feet towards the heart of Lothlorien she found herself locked in the place, unable to hide and protect herself from whatever was coming. Just before the enigmatic mist would swallow her, she found enough strength in her knees to race down the meadow to the path that led towards the royal gardens. Hisses in Black Speech invaded her mind, trying to weaken her thoughts and her physical abilities, but the elleth was stronger than the darkness presumed. She managed to slip through its skulking shadows just in time, hecticly avoiding the slabs of rock impeding her escape. With a throat sore from desperately trying to get as much air into her lungs as possible the child hoarsely sobbed her parents' name in hope her calls would bring them to her, but instead of feeling her mother's warm embrace and hearing her father's soothing voice she noticed a dark, bulky figure striding the path along the gardens. She did not recognize it, but she was not afraid of it either. It was far away from her and she could not clearly see its facial features, but she was certain it was not a member of her kind. A force awoke inside of her; a power of will so frantic she would have let it drive her into her own death by attacking the stranger if it weren't for one of the court's beloved butlers gripping her arms._

" _What are you doing here, child?" he whispered, hiding himself with Aireiel in his arms behind a tree. The pain in his voice was blatant, but Aireiel was too young to consider the probabilities of its cause. She was too young, too naïve, too innocent to understand war and its greed. The butler was determined to make it his life mission to protect the elleth by all means or die trying._

" _Ias na naneth a ada?" her little voice escaped her pale lips. **(Where are mother and father?)**_

" _Your family is safe inside," the butler explained. "You must hide in the woods for only there the darkness will not come to look for you. You must promise to stay there and do not return until I come search for you. Gwesta enni." **(Promise me.)**_

 _He reached for her chin with his fingers to bring her to look at him. As the elleth inclined her head towards him so her chin slipped through his fingers, her hazel eyes were brimming with tears. She would not let herself be weak enough to indulge a few to glide down her rose cheeks, not when he needed her to be strong. All this time spent on her own led her to this very moment as if the forest was trying to prepare her for her foreseen destiny. And she was ready to face it even though she could not fully understand it._

 _Her silent nod ensured him she will be fine on her own. He gave her a little squeeze in the shoulder before sending her away from him._

" _Nora, nín riel. Nora lim." **(Run, my princess. Run swift.)**_

 _As the figure of a running child disappeared into the forest, all that was seen behind her was fire, smoke, and death escorted by shocked screams and invocation for mercy. Violence led by the hand of evil plagued the land like a disease it was; an epidemic leaving no survivals. The once well-guarded peace was now shattered, burned to ash, crumbled to stone ,and like any concept that has been ruined to its core, a lot of years would have to pass before the Lorien peace was rebuilt and regained in all its previous glory._

 _Aireiel kept on running (concurrently avoiding the path that lead towards the meadow) to her presumed safety, not once looking back at what she'd left behind. For that was not the direction to which she was heading. Her mind was at crossroads: should she obey her protector and save herself from the ruinous doom that had befallen her homeland or return to the arms of her family and die by_ their _side? After all, what purpose would prosperity serve if it was not shared with them? How much would her life be worth if she would spend all of it wondering what might have happened to them and what might_ not _have_ _happened if she was there to save them? Because as much as she wanted it to be false, she belonged here. Her whole life has been filled with memories of this place. She knew nothing of the perils of the outer world into which she was heading; her father wouldn't have let her. So how was she expected to suddenly become a princess not of the court but of wilderness when in her past she had no reason to? Is that truly her sealed destiny? Is that who she wants to become? In her heart, she knew the real answer. And she would not find it in the hollow woods._

 _She turned her body into the opposite direction and now she was facing the smoke that has been lifting from the ruins of Lothlorien. With a sleeve of her gown she covered most of her face and used her free hand to protect her eyes from dangerous particles of charcoal floating in the air. Pollution caused by the soot bent the branches of the proud mallorn trees, leaving their golden leaves to fall carelessly on the ground. Aireiel passed the plantations placed across the gardens and entered the path, noticing the butler was nowhere to be found. She gulped at the idea of possible harm being done to him by the cause of her recklessness and disobedience. Her pulse quickened once she crept inside the sun room to find it completely abandoned and filled with more soot and ash. The tables and chairs were broken and tossed into one corner while the rest of the chamber and the corridors were empty as far as the eye could reach. Aireiel sneaked behind one of the walls and leaned her head just for a little bit to get a glimpse of what was happening at the end of the hall. Her flaming hair that covered her entire back was quite conspicuous, but it did not stop her from peeking out the corner. Sudden unexpected sound of stamp of heavy feet forced her to recoil behind the wall. Her breathing ceased entirely as she fiercely gripped the wall behind her. After the initial loud noise there was no sound at all until another stamp was to be heard, yet this time it was only one pair of legs, slowly striding towards something in the middle of the hall. The elleth poked her head out yet again, finding a small group of large armed beasts gathered in a circle. Once she was able to peep at the scene with almost her whole face out the wall, horror flushed her body as the group nervously rambled around their positions. They welcomed the newcomer into the circle and it seemed to be their leader of some sort, wielding a terribly sharp-looking blade. The leader began to address someone in a language unknown to the young child, but from the beast's body language she could discern the intentions were far from well-meant. The only thing that remained a mystery was who was kneeling in the middle of the circle, hidden behind the armed guards?_

 _The only thing Aireiel seemed to remember from that day was a dazzling shine of the terrifying weapon being lifted in the air by the haunting leader and then released with great speed towards the ground. An unpleasant sound of cracking and cutting filled the hall. Later a deep thud followed and the guards began to scatter the scene since the entertainment appeared to be over. As Aireiel took a sight of what sort of object fell to the ground she released a sobbing whimper she'd been holding in her throat for so long. The object was a part of the flesh that has been separated at the neck, and a mere glimpse at the elf's attire was enough to assume the executed was her beloved butler._

"My dear, you must eat something!" her father insisted.

Reluctantly she accepted the piece of lembas bread Edenir had been offering her for the past half an hour, keeping the melancholic frown to linger on her pale face. Ever since she awoke from the terrible nightmare full of most dreadful memories of her childhood an aching had settled in her heart, a throbbing pain each time she attempted to push the disturbing images away. But she knew they wouldn't fade away. Not so easily. They had been haunting her ever since she managed to escape with her father to join their kinsmen in pursuit of former peace and happiness. Sometimes they would appear as a distant memory that marked her on that day, but as quickly as they occurred they would disappear for another couple of weeks, sparing her the unspeakable pain of remembering the faces of her lost family. And on rare yet striking occasions those crushing memories would suffocate her until she would use her last breaths as a desirous prayer for their welfare. In those moments images of their smiling faces would appear in front of her eyes that would finally be able to close in gratification, knowing their safety was insured while she would be watching over them from the Gods' haven. In times such as these she would wake dangerously pale and feverish, with cold sweat trickling down her forehead and between her shoulder blades. She would find herself screaming their names as if she was trying to protect them from something foul chasing them, but as soon as she would become aware of her whereabouts she would realize she missed her chance of saving them. The Gods gave her the opportunity to rescue them but she was blind. And in her blindness she failed them while they awaited their salvation.

"Where are we headed?" she asked after a long period of hardly touching the surface of the food that was given to her. Her eyes flew around the walking army, examining each soldier from the peak of their helmets to the points of their leather boots. She eagerly wanted to expose some flaw in either their demeanour or, if need be, their garments but without saying or doing anything she stared at them in quiet admiration. She would never humiliate herself to such scandalous level to express any sign of approval, especially not when both her and her father were being forcefully abducted by a legion of armed strangers.

"Were you not paying attention the last fifty times I've already answered that question?" her father sarcastically replied which, judging by her unusual silence, obviously wounded Aireiel's ego. "I'll take that as a no, then."

Before replying in his full seriousness, he switched in his position on one of the mearas's back to gaze upon the maethyr leading the way through Mirkwood. It had been a long time since he meandered through these parts of the Rhovanion region. The occurrence brought both tormenting and pleasant flashbacks, yet all these years he was convinced he successfully suppressed both of the remembrances. He figured the surprise of the return of such feelings was due to the fact the last time he had visited those lands was before the time his youngest daughter was even born. The place looked exactly the same, though with less greenery; the hills peacefully slept in their position, the soil remained as firm as the first time he set foot on it, and the forest remained the wild and untamed world he remembered it after. After a while of switching his gaze from one coppice to another as if searching for something unattainable, he discovered the truth that had been hiding within him – it was not the forest nor the world that had changed. It was him.

"It was most kind of the Lord Commander to offer escort to the Elvenking's Halls to provide us safe journey during given circumstances," Edenir replied with a hint of reluctance and gratitude.

Only now that Aireiel had gained full awareness of their state she fully understood her father's words. Hesitancy and objection rose inside her, ready to burst directly upon him. She truly wished to express her sharp criticism regarding her father's choice of accepting the Lord Commander's treacherous suggestion, but right before she had almost uttered the incisive words she deepened into his words which stirred another sensation – confusion. Why would they take them to the opposite side of Mirkwood for? What use did they have of them? What were they doing here in the first place?

"You mean King Thranduil's residence?" Aireiel whispered, trying not to sound too eager to come to the bottom of this misunderstanding.

"Does anyone else rule these lands that I do not know of?" her father yet again proved he owned special skills in the usage of cynicism and sarcasm at the most appropriate moments.

The elleth pulled a long face while gripping the mearas's mane a bit tighter. She had every reason to be nervous and tense in that moment for she knew what shall await her in those halls. As if meeting His Majesty would not pose a great challenge itself she had to worry about facing the Prince himself as well _and_ his reaction on seeing her once again after probably assuming he would never have to deal with that embarrassingly inapt creature again. 

"What do they mean dark magic?" Legolas questioned with doubtful eyes. "Does that even still exist?"

"You would be surprised at the answer," his father answered although it seemed more as if he talked to himself rather than his son.

They were just leaving the healers' room after attending yet another thorough autopsy that had included slightly obsolete methods of treating a cadaver. It had been a disturbing and strenuous couple of hours of at first dull conversation until they reached more interesting causes of death, involving suspicious practices of dark magic. They had already visited the mortuary in the base of the healers' room two days past but the experts stated the body was not ready for dissection since the traditional embalming (which can claim several days if they were to strictly follow the procedure conceived in the early years of the studies concerning the art of healing and the structure of an elf's body) was not finished yet. It was a King's duty to respect certain customs in which he had no specific part, therefore he was forced to wait a couple more days to uncover the answers he had been seeking; answers that would calm the distraught common folk and achieve justice for the Realm.

The pair was approaching the throne hall when they bumped into Calaron, ferment and unease obvious on his stiff face. His lips, that were usually open in order to speak something profoundly smart, were now pulled into a thin frown, and his eyes were not sparkling of enthusiasm and determination no more.

"Any news?"

"I'm afraid nothing that would suffice," Thranduil lied, ignoring his son's glare of chastisement upon his left temple.

"Hadn't they prepared the body yet?" Calaron continued, reminding Thranduil where his duties lay. "The folk is becoming hysterical, my Lord. They demand answers that would put an end to this crisis."

"Has it not occurred to you how very much aware I am of that? Do you think I am blind to their scolding, hateful looks and deaf to their accusations? Everywhere I go I hear their whispers, and everywhere I go I am reminded of my mistakes. So I beg you," the King paused before continuing, "do not make this more difficult than it already is."

Calaron flushed with shame and humiliation he had received and removed himself from their path. Beside the embarrassing shade of red his neck and cheeks had turned to, he showed no sentiment on the outside when he burned with rancour deep within his soul. He watched them become tiny spots in the distance ascending the short stone bridges that were the vascular system of the underground palace. He observed their light movements, and despised how easily they bore all the guilt, disgrace, and blood they were accountable for. They might think their reign would last for eternity, but what they failed to see was that being a true leader was a far greater responsibility than wearing silken garments and sophisticated capes; it was about being a generous and a trustworthy leader to the nation. No prosperous future awaited a king whose nation should soon begin to renounce his own authority.

"Do you think he's right, ada?" Legolas inquired once they almost reached the stairs to the throne.

"I believe he simply fears for the well-being of the folk," Thranduil explained impervious to his son's indications.

"But is that not a good thing?"

"Fear can blind even the most gracious ellyn, Legolas," his father reminded him. "I do not intend to succumb to such precarious temptations."

"Fear can also lead to good things," the Prince persisted.

"Such as?" Thranduil turned his head to Legolas, brushing his shoulders with his long silver locks.

"It can unveil a mask and show someone's real face. A face that does not pretend and is willing to do whatever it takes to prevent the thing it fears from happening. Fear awakes an ellon's deepest, most guarded secrets. And that ellon has two possibilities how to react in such compromising situation; he can either run from it to avoid the necessary ramifications or face it and triumph above the ill intentions striving to ruin him."

His son's words hit him more than he had predicted. He told himself to listen carefully to what the King-to-be had to say, what arguments he would use in his defence, and how would he argue his decisions. But Thranduil soon understood the true reason behind Legolas's choice of subject, and he did not like it. Not one bit. After all the pressure and the arraigning he received from his own nation he would never expect to experience the same from his son. The only person who was expected to stand by his side, support his opinion, and share his judgement was now... betraying him? He might had got it all wrong, but the spark of rebellion and insolence in Legolas's eyes spoke more than his words ever could. It revealed the truth Legolas couldn't speak out loud.

"You deem me weak?" was all he was able to utter.

"I never said such a thi-"

"Do not begin to evade now," Thranduil spoke with his deep tone he usually used for chiding his counsellors for not accomplishing their duties properly. "What do you know of leading a nation? What would you know about its needs and demands? Have you ever tasted it on your own skin? The pressure that eventually tramples you like a boot, the haunting voices hissing your sins at night or the constant feel of _guilt_ and self-hatred? I will not let it consume my health nor my valour; I will continue to fight for this nation until my dying day. Never in my time of reign, not a single day has passed when my endeavour and effort would be feigned or in any way lessened. Trust me when I swear upon my oath that such day would never come to pass. Then and only then you have my permission to accuse me of such unimaginable infidelity; until then do not dare to doubt the victory of the battle I am fighting for the sake of my people!"

He felt the strength he possessed merely minutes ago fade from his limbs and vanish into the thick air. He hated himself for making an impression of having to explain himself to Legolas. The pressure he spoke so confidently of finally got the best of him; not even he was exempt from feeling defeat and ignominy. Whatever certainty he had before had disappeared, died out. His face remained placid as if he was not at war with his own mind. The sudden twitching movement of his eyelid required to remove his eyes from Legolas and rush towards his glorious seat. He gazed upon it with greatest hatred he possessed, cursing its influence and power some people desired more than anything without realising there was a cruel curse bound to it. Moments of insecurity would not go past him – it was inevitable and crucial for preserving one's sanity. But by Gods he loathed them. From the uncontrolled shaking of his hands to the unsteadiness of his state of mind he became so irritatingly self-conscious it caused him physical agony. Perhaps he truly wasn't experienced enough in this area, hence the unpredictable reactions, or (to reminisce his beloved son's words) he simply ignored it all along. Perhaps he _was_ being given signs all this time and his own arrogance divest him from gaining any useful knowledge.

"Father, are you well?" Legolas asked, noticing the darkness in Thranduil's eyes.

"I am alright," he seethed in reply, fixing his robe.

Switching in his position a bit Legolas decided to give his father some time alone. "I shall inspect the main gates. They should return any moment now."

He glanced one more time at the throne, and when he found his father's cutting gaze upon him, he retired from the scene. For his own sake.

Thranduil observed his son's limber motions drifting away from the throne to one of the bridges that led towards the palace's main entrance. Sorrow and remorse filled his rueful pair of gem-like eyes as he let the exchanged words sink in. His lithe fingers found the round tip of the antlers-shaped throne and gripped it with force. Heatedly he berated himself for always presenting himself as an honourable leader, worthy of his people's respect and faith; it aggrieved him to grasp it was all a lie. But was it a lie when it was done without his knowledge? Was it really his fault if the nature itself had turned against him without any reason whatsoever? Still, it was pointless. He was convinced that the minute he'd show any sign of weakness or vacillation he'd be taken in front of the court to confess his treason and atone his sins (consequently he'd be banished from the Realm for the rest of his days which was no use to him either) or he could plead not guilty and spend the rest of his life as a social outcast, a conspirator against his nation, a deserter and a traitor. He could already hear their profane innuendos creeping to his attention even if the ones responsible for the spread of such nonsense would stand meters away. It was not fear that paralysed his movements and waned his eyesight; it was his own disappointment and failure that pestered him. It was not the worry for himself that bothered him, it was for his son in case his predictions and suspicions would take place.

When in distress, people tend to loose control over themselves. Violence erupts, rebellion is born, and fear spreads like an illness. In times like this only one person has both the authority and the power to prevent the worse things from ensuing, releasing the land of doubt and anguish. Only the leader's voice would soothe their aching, only his words would make them believe in their future again. That was the power many individuals craved, but most were not familiar with its less known effects. Such as the effect when that same power slowly consumed your mind and gnawed your conscience. The pain becomes the better part of you, and the only way you can get rid of it is to accept you will have to live with it. Regardless of the price. And the cost that had afflicted Thranduil was immense. Not only it had demanded his sanity but his life in general as well. At least all that was sentimental about it. He gave up everything that was once good and compassionate about him for one goal: to become invincible. Now his reality had crushed to pieces when he realised his dreams were in fact a contract with the devil.

Legolas could not quite understand his father's outburst nor his chagrin afterwards. He was aware that trying to find a reason for it would demand a great deal of his time and gaiety, and he did not exactly wish to sacrifice or risk his own well-being to unravel the mystery behind his erratic behaviour. Each time the Prince would only mention this complication to him he would begin to throw mean words at him, accusing him of insolence and impudence for sticking his nose in business unknown and irrelevant to him. His father had been like this ever since he could remember and putting any more effort in this futile aim would not make any difference, especially not change his character. Not to mention the possibility of Thranduil being completely blind to his son's exertions which would bring nothing but bitter pain and more disappointment to the young Prince.

The morning light began to convert to a slightly softer shade of yellow when Legolas greeted the armed guards patrolling around the gates. Their main attire, under the loose yet resilient, leather armour reminiscing the forest's leaves, was of deep forest green and dirty brown. The armour resembled a long, pointy gown protecting the better part of their tall figure which they carried with great pride. In their hands, covered in pads of same colour and material as the armour, they were holding spears with sharp blades, the tip of the blade reaching a little above their heads. Another sharp weapon would accompany the fierce spear at their hips. The cornerstone of the Elven sword design was the interlocked ornament at the base of the blade. Finished in bronze, this piece was marked by engraved details set into metal accents on either end of the hilt. It was one of the finest weaponries the Royal Army had in possession. However, the helmets were the vital detail that masked them as unreadable and sinister because they gave such a striking shape to the head. The edge of the helmet would reach so high up their cheekbones it would almost touch the tip of their eyes; instead it made another turn towards their temples and form a pointing tip at the bridge of their noses. Deadly sharp edges and salient embellishments of the helmet evoked a predatory quality, and even though the corners of the helmet would almost hinder their vision, preventing them from detecting imposters in time, their eyesight was keen and capable of serving as one of the elf's most crucial senses.

Stopping nearly at the very gates, the Prince turned his head around to lock his gaze at the stairway East of the gates that led into the training pits below the ground. His departure with Aireiel did not leave the two in good spirits, so his eyes desperately sought her appearance in order to make amends before required duties would separated them for a longer period of time. He was not the one for keeping business unfinished, particularly not with people dear to him. It was not common for them to quarrel as frequently as they had been in the past few days, and besides the tension and suspense about the unsolved murder they had to clarify to the public with a credible explanation, this particular nuisance also occupied a better part of his mind. Ever since his first visit at the mortuary he had not seen her nor did he tried to find her, due to his resistant pride and conceit. He would never admit it out loud to someone but deep down he knew what that feeling of weight burdening his chest and shoulders truly was – he missed her. He needed her assurance and approval to guide him through his decisions, her wit and mockery to make him forget about his daily worries, and most of all her advice and support only a loyal friend like her could provide him with.

"Your Highness, it is time to open the gates," one of the guards reminded Legolas. "They shall return soon."

"Of course," the detached Prince replied and approached the gates.

Without exactly being conscious of his movements, his hands slid towards the handles of the gates, ready to burst them open and welcome the platoon from its journey. Instead of feeling the cold and rough metal beneath his fingertips, his senses received vibrations emanating from the outer side of the palace. The sensation caused him to freeze in his position to consecrate all of his focus to the obtained information. After pricking his pointy ears he gathered the vibrations were getting stronger and more intense with each second. Receiving sensations alike this was nothing unusual to the elves who were renowned for their exceptional gifts at sensing even the most fragile tingles; yet there was something unassailable about it, something nebulous and dark. He could not distinguish its form nor origin; all he knew for certain was that it progressed quickly and carried wicked incantation with it which needed to be either dispelled or exorcized, but most importantly kept at a far distance from the Woodland Realm folk. Be that as it may, the oncoming foul spirit might be the source of the magic that was responsible for the murder of one of the Council members.

Legolas ordered the guards to be cautious and prepared of what was to enter through the gates for the hostile spirit might be faster and more forceful than all of the army combined. The Prince himself swiftly grabbed three arrows from the case strapped on his back and adjusted them on the strengthened bow aimed precisely at the entrance. He commanded the guards to begin to carefully open the gates and remain calm at their positions. Legolas was fairly skilled in leadership but this was something else entirely. When uncertain of the foe's assets and deficiencies a leader can only assume the outcome of the battle, hoping the odds shall be in the favour of his team. And this moment was definitely one of those intense stages of uncertainty where one can only pour more faith and trust into the power of the Gods to bestow a merciful fate upon them.

The enormously tall gates of cerulean blue began to unseal, and as the guards at Legolas's side reached for their blades they were forced to recoil by the arrival of a horde of beings Legolas deemed long forgotten and extinct. As much as he was briefly grateful and pleasantly surprised to see he had been wrong all these years, the creatures mildly intimidated him, even though brave warriors like Legolas himself were supposed dauntless and valiant. He was not as alarmed about the beings as he was about the reason of their presence in the Woodland Realm. Their natural residence was at an entirely different location, far away from corrupted and pernicious lands, a place where nature breathed free air. Another reason for his concern was the sensation he perceived earlier and its connection to the mearas; how was it possible to receive such dark vibrations from such pure and delicate creature? The only valid explanation Legolas could calm his consciousness with was that the vibrations did not come from the mearas which led to only one possibility: the infiltrator was still unidentified and roaming freely among the group. Legolas rapidly avoided being trampled by the white horses and drifted to the middle of the infantry to scan the crowd in which he found himself in. Finding the intruder could present a far greater challenge than Legolas presumed if his eyes wouldn't suddenly land on someone he was instantly sure was responsible for the recent obscurity of his mind as for the false and most definitely deceitful informations.

The repercussion of seeing her again in close proximity resulted in all sorts of effects bruising and weakening his body; it seemed as if his chest suddenly sunk in itself (without Legolas knowing such occurrence or even a slightest feeling of it happening actually existed), causing his heart to react in most unpredictable way. If he was not as accomplished in his skills he would have released the arrow that rested on his bow merely seconds ago, and without a care of the arrow's posterior whereabouts he would have dropped the bow in shock. Since he couldn't have let that come to pass he released his agony (as the result of his incredulity) underneath his placid mask. By striving to achieve perfect tranquillity on the surface he hoped it would demolish any signs of his internal suffering. What he had failed to see was that trying to do so with all his might only tended to instigate more wrinkling between his eyebrows which formed a rather worried expression on his face.

Quickly becoming aware of his mistake, he decided to focus on the leader of this expedition instead, hoping that would adequately distract him and prevent his spiteful thoughts doing any further confusion to his brain.

"Hîr gon, mae l'ovannen," he hurried to ignore Aireiel and another unknown Sindarin elf coming their way, likely to introduce themselves and their intentions in the Woodland Realm. "How was the journey?" **(Lord Commander, welcome)**

Legolas realised the irrationality and ridiculousness of his question with which he encouraged Meatherion to likely bring up the subject the Prince himself wished to avoid by all means.

The Lord Commander took a deep breath and raised one hand to begin to explain all the difficulties, complications, and impediments the infantry stumbled upon when away from the palace, but the mysterious Sindarin elf interrupted his presumably ardent summary.

The entire ten minutes that passed since the return of the infantry Legolas was convinced Aireiel did not notice him, although he expected (or subconsciously _hoped_ ) it to be otherwise. Due to his swift and unexpected movements he surely made it hard for her to spot him amidst the crowd of armed elves. But while Legolas was both extremely self-conscious and foolishly forgetful of his exceptional appearance, he missed one significant detail concerning hiding himself from her gaze. While he believed she had already forgotten about him, erased him from her memory, and sealed any chance of further accidental encounter as impossible and probably absurd, Aireiel kept the memory of him more alive then ever before. How could she ever forget his graceful posture, his floating, golden locks, his charming laughter or his glistening eyes? All these things marked him as unforgettable and enchanting in her mind, causing a smile uncontrollably twisting her lips and an embarrassing flush covering her neck and cheeks. Regardless of her infinite list of methods how to get him out of her mind, it was pointless for he had already began to grow in the darkest corners of her mind, lighting her mood even at the most inappropriate times. She _wished_ to wipe him out that easily, but the longer she fought against those thoughts, the deeper they planted their roots. And honestly, she sometimes allowed herself to begin to enjoy them.

A feeling of anticipation, excitement, and thrill poured into one complex emotion accompanied her on the journey to the Elvenking's palace, and similar to those harmful thoughts she was sure the battle against it was already lost. Each time she shrugged a bit to shake off the unpleasant image of his face of disgust after seeing her once more or tried to begin a conversation with her father that would not include the aggravating anecdotes of the Realm and its guardians, her heart would begin to beat faster as if reminding Aireiel her thoughts should be elsewhere. It definitely wasn't right, but it didn't feel wrong either. She figured the only way she could win this fight against the incessant affliction was to accept the fact she would simply have to confront him and defeat whatever shame would come afterwards. But after entering the palace with such pomp and tumult, her stomach began to engage in somersaults at the thought of Legolas seeing her this way. Once she was off that horse she was certain he had already been observing her from far away, noticing her discomfiture, and mocking her ineptitude. At first she was against her father's idea to join Meatherion's side on his way to inform the King of their arrival but after a second of contemplating her other options she realised she basically had none. Reluctantly and with her head bowed facing the ground, she and Edenir followed Meatherion some steps behind, when in the middle of his rush he was disturbed by a tall, lithe figure. As expected, Aireiel was too busy discerning the chips cracks in the stone floor to notice the person fervently turning eyes at her; however, she was very much aware of the growing blush shrouding her face.

The second Edenir stopped in his position, Aireiel quickly lifted her head up in order to avoid any unnecessary accusations of impoliteness and disrespect, but the azure she captured with her gaze most definitely did not belong to the eyes she expected. In truth, she did not know what to expect, though the only eyes she hoped not to meet directly were his.

His shock was, strangely, comparable to hers; his icy gaze took in the full sight of her before he released an almost invisible sigh, then directed his look towards the Lord Commander in front of him. Even a slight careless look at him caused her insides to burn, but once she fixed her eyes on him it was impossible to look away. A pull dragged her closer to him with a force so powerful she barely managed to act appropriate not to spectacularly embarrass herself as her father in the presence of their savour. But as much as her internal torment seemed intolerable and the feeling of her heart being ready to explode was getting harder to disregard, she allowed herself a glimpse at the Prince from time to time to come to an astonishing discovery. Legolas was peering at her with all the fervour and ardour the depth of his eyes could target on her, leaving her completely breathless and powerless. Suddenly, her father switched in his position to move to another location at her side, plainly exposing Aireiel to Legolas's vision. She figured this must be her cue for introducing herself to the Prince, and with great hesitance she finally decided to look straight into his eyes once again, despite him already intensively staring at her. Even though her father and the rest of the redoubtable elves currently present stood merely inches away, their articulate chatter and occasional loud remarks were muffled, hazy to her ears. The only thing her senses chose to focus on was the Prince in front of her, and that was highly inconvenient.

Aireiel made a step forward, exiting the seeming comfortable personal space she had made for herself, and timidly approached Legolas, knowing there was no better time and more appropriate circumstances for confronting him than now. If she was to make any suggestion or indication that would imply that she would want additional contact with him, she needed to make it now for their next encounter was not guaranteed or safely believed to be even possible. She needed to make the decision now or else it will be too late, and while she was sure this opportunity will not come back to her again, she was still confused about Legolas's own feelings towards her. But time afforded to her was running out, and the best thing she could do in that moment was to at least act aloof and unimpressed if not feel it.

"Nín caun," Edenir's words suddenly became clear and sharp, forcing Aireiel back to reality, "let me present you my daughter, Aireiel." **(My Prince)**

Despite his aversion, Legolas's eyes slowly flew to the auburn-haired elleth opposite to him. Not even looking straight at her he could sense her tension and insecurity, radiating with such impetuosity it almost blinded the young Prince. Yet just like Aireiel, Legolas had to gather same grit and boldness to even comprehend what was happening. Despite the fresh, foreign feelings that sparked doubt and insecurity within him, the two experienced similar things. Both acknowledged the fact this might be the only opportunity to express either repugnance or affection, and at the same time the only occasion when whatever of the two feelings each will choose to display shall burn the brightest, and its flame shall either demolish of what little hope was left or ignite a spark as the beginning of something far greater and celestial than this world had ever seen.

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 **A.N.: since I have a feeling this chapter might be a lot to take in, I would only wish to clear up that Edenir is NOT the same friend Meatherion lost during a battle, even though it would be a nice alternative to it. Hope you liked this chapter and make sure to share your thoughts with me!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello again! It's been quite a while now, I admit. So many things have entered and left my life, many events have shaken up my world in the past few months, but nothing will prevent me from continuing this story. This one is a bit long and detailed, but one of my personal favourites. I hope you will enjoy it as well!**

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Chapter 7

 _Love is... Devoting your lives to each other, knowing the good and the bad sides of one another, yet loving them nonetheless. It is when the darkness rises that true love reveals itself. You either flee or face it. But if you choose the latter, you know you shan't face it alone._

 _You must understand that the bond is not some matter one takes lightly. It is a form of a higher power on the level of spirit, mind, and body._

Aireiel intuitively remembered her father's words in every painful detail as she timorously turned her gaze towards the Prince. It might have been a long time since she stood in front of a mighty, powerful person but the awe and the cold shivers crawling on the inside and the outside of her body were more than familiar to her. Being born into a noble, aristocratic family with countless of valuable connections she had the privilege to get acquainted with the most respectable and reputable representatives of the society she was a part of. Such experience brought her many benefits, including being compelled to polish her manners which would result in refined social behaviour her parents were most proud of. The gained knowledge and new set of skills in courtesy enabled her to infiltrate into the highest parts of the cream of the crop, casting a creditable light upon her family, and displaying her as the most desirable, graceful, and exquisite elleth of the court in that time. It would be an understatement to assert the other court ladies became green with envy and pale of fear that their time of glory and fame might be over too soon, and it was all because of that godlike creature everyone seemed to love. She was not particularly favoured by her peers of both lower and higher rank to say the least, but her grace and spirit persisted nonetheless. For true beauty is not what hides in the features of one's appearance but what lingers and endures deep within. Aireiel's beauty were not only her locks of fire or the charm of her posture; it was something extremely radiant yet invisible to the plain eyes at the same time. Something only those who seek mercy and divinity in the true beauty of nature herself are able to see and admire for themselves. Such beauty was safely hidden from the ordinary life and remained humbly unobtrusive to a passer-by; though worshipped by those who pursue a far greater goal in this life; people of a great mind and a brave heart – a heart brave enough to let itself love and relish in brief moments of otherworldly pleasure.

Legolas shamelessly belonged to the group of the latter. Her enticing movements, her inviting gaze, the loveliness of her timidity, the fresh rosiness of her cheeks and lips – it all poured into one captivating emotion that was the reaction of having the privilege of standing next to her. The enthralling scent of tall grass covered in morning dew, the fruits of Yavanna, and the sprinkles of the forest spirit captured in her flaming curls occupied his already weakened senses while he barely managed to keep himself under control. With each new thought of her a stronger, fiercer feeling settled in his muscles, making him glued to his position. Nervously clutching his palms and inattentively spitting clumsy words, Legolas found himself in an impossible situation. Unless he found an effective solution to this mess, he won't be able to hold back the instinct inside him for much longer, urging him to caress her bleeding cheek with his pale hands and put his long arms around her shoulders, securing her from any further harm. He was aware it was expected of him to do anything in his power to prevent this instinct from prevailing over the restrained side of him in order to protect both his title and his frail heart. Not only it would be indecent and crude of him to simply succumb to this feeling and give in to his impulse but highly disrespectful of the ones currently present as well.

The dying need, burning inside him with all the passion and ardour his being could ever produce, was getting harder to ignore while he chose to continue with the small talk between Meatherion and himself. All the strength he possessed he focused it to not glance at Aireiel so blatantly; but while he tried to keep his secret gazes at moderate level, the will of his heart commanded him not to care at all. And deep down he knew he didn't, but his mind reminded him of his place and his part in the society, and suddenly the heat in his bright eyes died out, producing a cloud of shame and brutal realisation of the seriousness of his position, darkening his vision. How easy and joyous would it be to surrender to the sweet temptation of cherishing every piece of her with the tenderness of his love, adoring all her marks, freckles, and the vast collection of other details that posed such significance to him. How _right_ it would feel.

After another minute had passed of discussing a clearly exhausted subject, Legolas decided to escort the arrived elves to the higher parts of the palace. Indeed he meant to take them to his father, but he decided to take a longer path to the throne room where the King awaited. His main goal of executing his gesture was to take Aireiel on a quick tour of the underground dwelling. Even if she had not clue of such a plan, but such contemptible details were obviously a waste of Legolas's time. While the group of four casually roamed the high stairways of the palace, Edenir slowed his pace to join his daughter's side.

"What do you think?" he whispered to her, obviously in awe of the marvellous architecture of the dwelling.

Aireiel considered her father's words for a brief moment before offering him a reply for one might quickly receive a response of an entirely different nature which was a completely opposite to the admiration of the intricate staircase Edenir was currently referring to.

"I am certainly impressed, but not in the least surprised," Aireiel replied aloofly, looking beyond her shoulder to avoid her father's confused stare.

"Still bitter?" Edenir turned to her but returned his look ahead of him once he realised Aireiel was ignoring him. "You ought to be thankful for what I've done."

"Thankful?" she scoffed. "For what? Allowing to humiliate and degrade yourself to such level? Being a laughing stock amidst these traitors?" She made sure she emphasized the word _traitors_ as if wishing to remind her father of what sort of people resided in these halls.

"You know we never would've made it out there on our own, especially with such grave wounds we both have endured," Edenir released a sigh. "Sometimes, in order to survive we must forget about past resentments and adjust to what we have been offered. You know I wish only the best for us."

"Well, the best surely isn't this," Aireiel spat, convinced that would silence any additional attempts at convincing her this was the right choice.

But before she even managed to put her arms in front of her chest in a reluctant gesture, they were gripped by a strong force, pushing her off the path.

"Listen very carefully, Aria," Edenir threatened rather than advised as was his original intention, "we are not who we used to be. We do not own the luxury we once used to bathe in. Circumstances in which we have been forced have taught me a great lesson: never give in and always adapt. Make compromises, even if they seem contentious and irrational at the moment. Provide shelter, regardless of the conditions. And by all means, survive. Can't you see? We have no other option but to accept what we have been so generously given. I will not stand on the fragile foundations of my pride in order to later fall even further than before. Not anymore, Aireiel. Not anymore."

The sad spark in his eyes made Aireiel realise her father was being sincere as was his invocation for understanding. As much as she would wish it not to be real, his pleading was dire, desperate for clemency and indulgence. She had never saw such painfully imploring look in his eyes before, and suddenly she came to an enlightening realisation; in order to both keep her father sane and assure their survival, she must do what it is asked of her. She will have to make compromises to avoid any difficulties during their stay in the Realm for an uncertain period of time. Only now it came to her how important it was for them to stay as inconspicuous and piteous for as long as they could before their true identities would be uncovered. Nobody wished an unnecessary scandal, right?

But as quickly as Aireiel began to consider the possible jeopardy of their statuses, a feasible danger related to the mentioned hazard sprout in her mind, or to be exact, a person who was privy to facts that could lead to the actualization of the threat. Her breathing stopped for a short moment and the thought crept even deeper in her mind. While a part of her believed Legolas could never carry out such a treacherous deed after all they had been through, the other, doubtful and suspicious part could never fully trust him either. Their recent encounter did not reveal any other emotion (or Legolas wouldn't _let_ it reveal, but Aireiel decided to denote this option only as an assumption and nothing more) besides the shock which could be connected to many negative things, including opposition to her appearance in the Woodland Realm, feeling threatened due to the escort of the Royal Army or simply disdaining and rejecting the idea of her being at the same location as him. All of these possibilities might be highly unlikely but no less unrealistic to Aireiel who was still continually pestered by them.

Reaching the spiral stairway at the East of the palace, Legolas allowed himself to turn his head over his shoulder to catch a sight of her, long enough to be considered courteous and thoughtful, and quick enough not to be obtrusive and disrespectful. Regardless of the briefness and carelessness of his gaze, he managed to capture the exact moment of Aireiel's eyes sadly following the path under her feet and in the next second abruptly flying upwards to meet his. There is no such thing that lasts forever but in a brisk moment of a shared laugh, an old familiar touch or the glance of true love we can achieve eternity. And that moment is enough. Enough to bring to life the once forgotten affection and compassion that were presumed lost for good, to awake the boiling wrath hidden in the darkest corners of the soul, to inflame the frantic desire that would consume the body with its blazing fire and condemn the being to destruction. Legolas could taste all of these feelings rushing to the surface of his soul, slowly beginning to devour his insides. The moment of the glance might have been brief, yet the burning craving the two exchanged instead of the unspoken words endured and had settled deep within them, even when they directed their gazes elsewhere the next second. The craving for an explanation, a contact, a look that would soothe all the worries that had been harassing them persisted and froze in their glance. Panic and surprise contorted her facial features, but most of all relief. It felt as if an immense weight had suddenly quit gripping her heart and finally enabled her to breathe normally again. The pain still occasionally stung her insides to remind her not all of the danger was eliminated. Despite having to keep a mask guarding the display of her true emotions right beneath the surface of her face, Aireiel knew she was now able to take the deserved respite she'd been wanting to ever since the news of the direction of the journey was brought to her. Everything that was severely bothering her consciousness and suffocating her with each step towards the heart of the palace vanished into the air due to one single sincere glance from Legolas. Everything that she'd been worrying about from the beginning of the visit was now evidently nothing but an unnecessary concern straining her body.

The Prince, both confused and satisfied from the recent experience, joined Edenir's side to affiliate him to the conversation he was having with the Lord Commander before receiving the burning look from the elleth. The trio roughly summarized the more interesting part of the palace's history and the mysterious and concealed appearance being its most fascinating and appealing quality, while Aireiel decided to pick up the pace of her walking to an adequate speed which would allow her to intercept every word exchanged in the conversation. She made sure the curious incline of her head was not being _too_ curious but merely regarded as her wishing to stay as close to the group as possible since she and her father made it clear enough that being in an unknown environment didn't bring good things along. Standing nearly directly behind Legolas and seeing his causal, confident stride with his elaborate silver braids covering half of his back to his shoulder blades evoked a specific memory in her mind. Her thoughts drifted back in time and took her to the very first time she laid eyes on the majestic Prince. The feeling of safety and assurance was exactly the same as the moment she chose to converse with him, breaking the pledge she'd sworn to herself to never establish contacts with creatures without her father's permission or with creatures she already knew her father wouldn't approve of. Choosing to continue their conversation in the woods that night was the best mistake she had ever done, but she suspected meeting him again today was more than just a mistake. It was already written in the stars. The Gods did not create errors and Aireiel was certain they had brought her here for a reason. There is always reason in having faith in the Gods, therefore she was calm knowing there was reason for her encounter with the Prince as well, and that she needn't worry.

After all of the three nonverbally agreed to say no more on the subject they chose to pass the time with in order to avoid the awkward silence that could possibly arise between them, Edenir decided to start a debate on a subject all of them secretly wanted to open as they also understood each word that had been exchanged in the course of the past minutes of walking towards the throne room was only a distraction to cover the growing anxiety that had become obtrusively disturbing during the small talk they had employed.

"Have you noticed any unusual behaviour of the nature in these parts?" Edenir began carefully. "Sightings of animals acting strange, soil becoming futile, ailing trees bending to the merciless wind?"

Meatherion looked at Edenir with incredulity that was caused by the question. As much as it was expected (at least on Meatherion's part), the opening of such perilous matter in front of strangers, let alone the matter itself being open by one of those strangers, sprouted a feeling of trepidation and discomfort depressing his mind. After all, the subject was partially related to the reason Meatherion brought his friend and his daughter along to the palace (even though deep within Meatherion knew the dominating reason for his decision was the threat he had been given as both an escort and admonishment by his King). Before the Lord Commander chose to freely give his honest opinion of the matter he glanced at the Prince, seeking an advice on to what degree is he permitted to express his thoughts in relation to the obstacle they had encountered themselves in the past weeks. He knew confiding in too much information that he might later be informed were supposed to remain classified wouldn't bring much joy the King nor the Council, so gaining the Prince's consent might just be the best option to avoid repercussions that might follow in case he does accidentally spill too much.

But despite Meatherion hoping he would find either rejection or approval in the Prince's eyes, Legolas seemed similarly baffled by the unknown elf's inquiry. He had gathered the strange elf and Lord Commander must have met each other previously, in a time before the existence of the Woodland Realm, but even being aware of their acquaintance he thought the question to be audacious and bold. Perhaps he was using the privilege of having connections inside the palace for covert interests that might be of malevolent nature, interests that might pose a direct threat to the Realm which mustn't transpire. Feeling Meatherion's gaze upon his face he felt obliged to show a meagre sign of discontent with Edenir's curiosity. With that gesture he neither vouched for the Commander's actions nor did he encourage him to answer his friend honestly. However, what he did, intentionally or by accident, show was that he took Edenir's intense desire to deepen in this sensitive subject under consideration and definitely marked it as suspicious. Meatherion might give assurance of his friend's innocence and incorruptibility based on his personal opinion about the elf but Legolas's instinct warned him to be wary of this particular individual and his true intentions for until he proved his integrity the elf was not to be trusted.

"We have sensed occasional anomalies and irregularities but nothing that might arouse serious qualms," Meatherion disclosed, confirming Edenir's enquiries in hope that would satisfy him and prevent him from asking any further questions which might bring even more embarrassment upon the blushing Commander. He thought it would be wiser to cover the recent affair since it could provoke a whole set of new unpleasant questions.

Edenir seemed pleased with the answer but not for long.

"What sort of anomalies, if you could be exact?"

Meatherion looked his friend with an unbelievable expression on his face that was mixed of shock and surprised of Edenir's repeated audacity.

"I've never actually been at the scene where the distortions would occur myself, you see, I've merely heard the reports," the Lord Commander discreetly stated. Knowing that wouldn't appease Edenir's what have turned to be a passionate inquisition, he added, "But the Royal Guard at the Southern borders have informed us of strange sightings at the far South."

"Did those sightings, by any chance, include reports of sudden changes of the weather, such as swirling of a mass of air at one particular location, producing a whirlwind centred towards the ground?"

Both Meatherion and Legolas now glanced at the elf in disbelief and consternation. The Prince mentally proclaimed Edenir and his intentions as ambiguous.

"Yes," Meatherion whispered uncertain as to whether or not it was a correct response, "yes, they did." Yet again he searched for a sign in Legolas's eyes which remained coldly focused on the stranger.

The Lord Commander resolved it would be better for all of them to speak no more of this, even though they were all pestered by it in their own way. Edenir was profoundly pleased and slightly terrified to see his presumptions being confirmed by the one person who had the access to the information he needed, Legolas contemplated on how to invent a justifiable argument for the obnoxious elf's execution in the shortest time possible, while Meatherion wondered and pondered in his great head the reason behind his friend's sudden interest in the affairs of the Realm. He trusted he must have had an admissible excuse since being found at an abandoned fortress that was once the source of great evil half dead surrounded by creatures that were deemed extinct could be and would be the likely and expectable explanation for his odd behaviour.

Before anyone could thoroughly confirm their own theories the group found itself at the stairs leading to the throne and to the King himself. Aireiel's amazement of the structure of the dwelling was written all over her face, and when Legolas decided to secretly check up on her, ignoring the risk of getting caught again, he was deeply gratified to see joy gracing her features after pain and insecurity had deformed them for far too long. Sudden cheer and mirth warmed his body as he approached the space in front of the throne as the first in the line.

Aireiel had heard of the divine appearance of King Thranduil's halls as a child, but not even when she was a híril of the Lothlorien courthad she ever seen a sight that could even slightly compare to this one. Although the luminosity she was so attached to (as a result of being surrounded by nature and her gifts most of her life) was vague and faint, especially in the heart of the palace, she could feel something greater than life springing in her. It was respect, admiration, and fascination she had never experienced before. The vast arches that spread as fast as her eye could see, the intricate maze of staircases carved out of bare rocks, the high pillars that appeared more as monuments than foundations, and the quiet streams and waterfalls of crystal clear water at every corner – all of these ethereal masterpieces, coming both from the hand of the skilled master artisans of the Realm as from the spells of the nature herself resembled a place so familiar to her, yet at the same time a place she had never visited. It seemed so enchanting, captivating, and breathtaking it might as well had been heaven as far as Aireiel was concerned. **(H** **íril** **= Lady)**

At both sides of the stairway shaped out of a giant silver rock stood an immensely tall and frightening figure that turned out to be a Silvan guard vigilantly observing their every move. Passing the horrifying soldiers who obviously successfully managed to maintain their roles, Aireiel was now forced to direct her gaze on an even more petrifying person.

With a slightly tilted head, crossed legs clad in dark leggings of brown velvet, and a look in his eyes that indicated both extreme boredom and profound interest in what the soldier, assigned with a specific task had brought to him, the Elvenking made a spectacular first impression on the young elleth. With her lips lightly parted due to her boundless fascination with the Sindarin elf, Aireiel shamelessly stared at the sight boasting in front of her in great awe. Scanning the mighty creature from his precise and sophisticated garment to the tips of his crown that were miniature fruits typical of the current season, she was unaware of the fact that she was being thoroughly examined by the King himself at the exact same moment. She was the main attraction to him, a creature most alluring and absorbing, her each movement a new mystery to the majestic ruler. Despite both Meatherion and Legolas awkwardly waiting for him to focus his attention to the father of this remarkable creature the King happened to be so busy studying, he continued to eagerly follow every direction she chose to aim her gaze at until her eyes met the familiar azure. A satisfied grin graced his lips at the sudden wince of her shoulders and the embarrassment that covered her cheeks after she had looked away. After making sure she'd been appropriately punished for her childish and forgiveable insolence and for what the King interpreted as an acceptable reaction to seeing the great leader for the first time in person, he finally switched his look to the ellon standing next to her, similarly frightened and in awe, yet there was a touch of negativity to his character, a mixture of contempt and bitterness floating above him. Not being particularly impressed by the elf centring his burning gaze at him, Thranduil's attention drifted to Meatherion who patiently waited for the King to address him first.

"Man siniath ceria tegia, hîr gon?" **(** **What** **tidings** **do you bring,** **Lord Commander?)**

"We have stumbled upon many complications during our journey," Meatherion began, "but I haven't disappointed you, my King. I have not returned empty handed."

After uttering these words, Thranduil's icy gaze flew back to the strangers standing a few meters behind the Lord Commander. This time he took deeper care in observing the pair with profound caution and engrossment. In the years of his reign he had faced an endless amount of various vagrants begging for an accommodation after spending weeks trapped in the enchanted forest, trained assassins in disguise that used their last breaths before receiving their retribution for plotting a treason against the Realm to hiss their hatred towards the King, merchants coming from all corners of the world to greet the eminent King and offer him some of their products while they had the chance; all of this was well-known to the King as was the treatment he usually employed to dissuade their intrusive pleas for his mercy and to dismiss them for good. This special occasion, however, was something else entirely. Once he'd completed the visual examination he sensed disturbing, dark vibrations poisoning their seeming innocent aura, but what spurred his curiosity even more was that they seemed totally oblivious to it, not by slightest worried or tense about it. They were either marvellously good at preserving their masks or they did, in fact, have absolutely no clue of what woe they brought with their arrival.

Thranduil's buoyant mood from moments ago switched to suspicious chagrin he used to continue the quiet inspection. But just as Thranduil became suddenly aware of the Lord Commander's words, Edenir as well realised their meaning. Appalled and shaken by his statement, the yet unidentified elf used all his restraint and compulsion he could force on his body to prevent his neck from abruptly turning to Meatherion's side. Instead, he chose to enunciate his acute ire through a mild, yet noticeable cough that attracted the Commander's attention. Meatherion merely tilted his head to his left where Edenir was standing to assure him his irritation did not go unnoticed.

"In what circumstances did you find them?" the King inquired with an annoyingly haughty voice along with the arrogantly raised lush eyebrow.

"Towards the dusk on the third day of our expedition we have arrived to our planned destination where we experienced a rather rare occurrence," the Commander explained. He then paused to find an articulate way of conveying what sort of occurrence he spoke about, but the King's rigid grimace coerced him into starting to elucidate the incident before Thranduil decided to toss the pair into the dark, humid dungeons and keep them there until he found a compromise on to whether he should dispose of their bodies in the middle of the forest and let the nature do its business or he should simply throw them through the portcullis in the cellars into the underground stream that flowed out from the hillside into the Forest River.

"When we reached the stronghold of Dol Guldur many men were suspicious of the safety of our journey. Many believe those lands to be cursed and condemned, that nothing but ruin would await us there. We approached the fortress nonetheless, where we encountered the three mearas guarding the two elves lying side by side, crippled and exhausted from the immense exertion coming from the hand of the shadow."

It was not an easy information to take in nor to hear reports of the alleged return of the shadow. The edges of Thranduil's dense eyebrows pressed towards each other, producing a large wrinkle at the centre of his forehead. It was never a good sign when the King used such an expression for reacting to certain news but before making any assumptions and hopelessly surrendering to the inevitable fate, the group was compelled to wait for the King's ultimate and official response.

"While I understand you felt obliged to bring them both to my court for healing which I solidarily welcome, I also gather you must have thought they could carry helpful information that might be of great use to the Council," the King implied.

The response made Meatherion blush for a brief moment at the sides of his neck as the reminder of the furtive intentions he had hoped to fulfil by under the guise of hospitality escorting Edenir and his daughter to the palace. Thranduil must have suspected Meatherion concealed a few facts from them, that is why he took particular pleasure in observing how the Lord Commander shall proceed with his report.

"I believe they witnessed an abnormal manifestation of something beyond our understanding. While offering them aid and the appropriate conditions for fast recuperation from the shock of what they have seen, I trust their story shall help us comprehend the previous incidents that have occurred in our lands. There was no other agenda behind their detention."

Thranduil was both pleased and staggered by the Lord Commander's evasive choice of words which he plaited into a beautiful wordplay. Remaining equable in his comfortable position, Thranduil realised a decision had to be made, and he knew nobody was going to make it in his stead (not that he would've let that happen in the first place). He roughly recalled the important parts of the report by winding the conversation backwards and then forward again. Remembering the strangers' body language and gawky walk he concluded they shouldn't pose specific threat but knowing if they should, the responsibility shall be on his behalf. While he marked the young elleth as entrancing and most definitely promising, he did not feel very confident writing off her father just yet. He wished to see how the pair would function without the presence of one another. Making a full, settled decision in his mind, he called three more guards to accompany them to the healing rooms.

"And Legolas," the King asked for his son who immediately turned to his father's call, "be so kind to fetch Tauriel on your way. You shall go with the elleth while she escorts the father."

A bit baffled, the Prince simply stated, "Understood," and ran down the stars to catch the distancing group leaving for the healing chambers.

Again they chose the East corridors, this time guided by the proficient Woodland soldiers. Judging by the fresh sunlight beams that escaped through the holes in the ceilings of the cave, Aireiel presumed the day to be drawing to noon. The slow and hypnotic humming of the cascades pouring into perfectly transparent streams underneath the stone bridges drove her into a blissful daydream, fantasizing of a magical, intriguing place; instead she needn't imagine it for she was walking through it this very moment. Both glad and confused for being brought here without her consent or knowledge, she decided to relish these monumental treasures of nature for the period of time she was to spend in here did not depend on her, therefore not enjoying every moment offered to her would be a terrible shame and a waste of their time.

Being escorted to one of the lowest parts of the cave (which Aireiel found it extremely inconvenient and tiresome considering those parts were supposed to be the ones where they carried those in urgent need of every second of help they could get) was just as enchanting and captivating as the first time she was being introduced to this mighty dwelling. Since these parts were moderately deprived of the natural light, the narrow corridors and passages were in need of additional illumination which the inhabitants successfully quenched by decorating the pillars at the sides of the path with floating lanterns of most strange forms. Their shape implied the material the lamps were made of to be a kind of stone with a rough, obscure surface that was even more noticeable when the flame of the candle seemed to burn the brightest. Her fascination with the details of the palace continued, and the strange lanterns were quickly replaced by the drawings, ornamentations, and markings carved out of rocks that served as protective walls leading their way deeper into the ground. Since she did not want to fall behind the group, be left to herself to orientate in the palace she barely got to know, and probably also get lost in the maze of staircases and hallways, Aireiel was allowed only a fleeting moment to inspect the mysterious carvings which, undoubtedly, held special and great value to the folk of the Woodland Realm. Because her keen interest in the dwelling did not show any signs of beginning to cease any time soon, she thought she could investigate other corners of the path she was walking on, for instance the ceiling. Not even this point of view did seem to disappoint her adoration as the corners of her mouth slightly curled into a pleasant smile that was the consequence of finding yet another prove this to be the most glorious, majestic, and grandiose dwelling she'd ever set foot to.

By the time the group managed to reach the entrance of the healing chambers, Aireiel was filled with warmth and avidity that were the result of being surrounded by so many natural beauties in the course of one single evening, and to think she probably hadn't seen even the third of what this palace had to offer flooded her with another wave of ingenuous excitement and anticipation. Even though the light provided by the lanterns cast a longer and darker shadow on the walls with each step they took to resort lower beneath the ground, one of the guards hastily announced they'd reached the training fields and then, using the same impetuosity, he proclaimed, especially to those foreign to these parts, this floor was considered the beginning of the lower parts of the palace, and Aireiel felt gnawing, unsolicited irritation springing inside of her as an encouragement to enhance the impatience by mentally yelling at those responsible for the construction of the palace for the strain she was currently undergoing, caused by their flawed execution of the design as the design itself. The dwelling did have a certain charm to it, but she had to admit it to herself it did possess a few flaws; one that particularly managed to caught her eye was this very staircase she was descending and cursing at the same time.

Her tired legs were at the verge of betraying her by releasing the tension in the muscles and joints any second now, when the lead guard suddenly announced a brief stop. Regardless of its temporariness, Aireiel was immensely grateful for the quick respite her limbs craved throughout the entire entourage, a respite she previously seemed to had overlooked. Soon after her profound appreciation was over, she began to wonder about the purpose of the halt but her confusion about it was dismissed even sooner by the approach of a graceful and nimble elleth holding an enviously beautiful bow in her left hand. The thing that seemed to stand out the most about the elleth that also happened to be the same thing Aireiel noticed first, were the sumptuous flaming locks floating majestically across her shaped back that had most likely (assuming by the section the group was currently at) earned its estimable form with hours of devoted practice at the training field and, presumably, exploiting her archery skills in the wilderness as well. A hard leather case of prepared arrows rested strapped firmly around her body, donned in a middle-length robe of fine green velvet with a pleat in the front. The bodice enclosing her slim waist was adorned with lace-ups that traced to the middle of her cleavage which was covered with another layer of garment of the same colour as the outer robe. Just below the bodice the narrowness of her waist was even more emphasized with a light brown, leather belt in which she found as another advantage to attach her sharp dual daggers. Additional accessories that helped to improve and fulfil her military appearance were the protective guards covering her shinbone and arm guards tightened around her forearms. Despite concluding this to be a very detailed and specific outfit, Aireiel didn't believe it to be the same one she'd use in a serious combat or even warfare. What even she was capable of detecting was that it simply lacked the firmness (which would also explain the choice of material of this particular garment) and the compactness a true armour offered.

Introducing herself as Tauriel, the young elleth (that Aireiel approximately estimated to be around her age) allowed her gaze to linger a bit longer on Aireiel's figure before joining Legolas's side with a satisfied grin on her face which Aireiel did not approve in the least; both the grin and the fact that she brazenly swung her lithe body in the Prince's direction. But as soon as she began to feel something similar to jealousy and resentment tarnishing her mind, she realised the truth she both repentantly accepted and regretted; that she, in fact, did nowhere nearly possessed a position that would grant her the right of feeling what she thought she'd felt and then quickly dismissed. Before her moral and demure conscience had the chance to fully deliver a sharp reprimand for her disgraceful behaviour, Aireiel had already began to sense a darker side of her awaking. A side only a seriously strong emotion could provoke, and seeing a completely blameless elleth starting a conversation with the Prince with such effortlessness and facility which Aireiel so passionately envied, and not being able to do anything about it but feel bitter and sulky was definitely the reason for such reprehensible feeling to sow its seeds in her mind. Now in full assembly, the group was able to continue with its rout to the under-underground level of the palace.

"Where did you managed pick up these two?" Tauriel half-teased, half-mocked the strangers she had previously curiously eyed.

Legolas offered her a single, pitiable look before giving the path his whole attention. "First off, it was not me who 'picked them up' as you articulated, I have merely just met them," he partially lied, "and secondly, the only reason I am here is to see their wounds receive proper care and prevent them from causing any troubles, if such occasion should even arise."

"Not your favourite captives, I see," the elleth continued with the teasing, despite obviously noticing his peculiar chagrin.

It was indeed very peculiar, since not long ago he was put in an unusually good by one of the captives themselves. But ever since his father ordered him specifically to take care of the young elleth and by doing so at the same time made her his responsibility, worry had clouded his mind. He knew a time alone with her in the privacy of the healing chambers was inevitable and while in there with her without anyone else who he might seek help and escape in, a polite conversation was in order. Only there was a tiny, minuscule little problem about that. He did not know how to begin to bring such conversation to life. Well, he did know how to combine words into a reasonable sentences, however with her in his presence, and not to mention _alone_ , he worried even such basic, fundamental, self-evident ability would completely fail, leaving him to work only with his pleasant and comforting yet awkward and eventually annoying smiles. Even a mere thought of the situation brought him on the edge of his stability while a plan how exactly he should avoid the feared circumstances required him fully present and able of finding an effective solution to this pathetic plight.

"They're not captives," he admonished. "The main reason for their visit is the interrogation. Offering them aid and nourishment while they're here is a mere gesture of hospitality."

"And you do not find that even slightly suspicious?" Tauriel prompted.

"I have strong reasons to believe they are not here to raid our pantries and fare on our expense, no," was his humble response that stayed in Tauriel's mind for a long time after the conversation.

Judging on the swift change of light in the stairway they were descending, Edenir assumed they must have reached the first healing chambers. A quaint, salient scent of herbs, balm, and oils engulfed his smelling senses, and a faint clatter and distant chatter occupied his hearing. The air in these parts was thick due to all the essences, incenses, and aromas merging, blending in each other, creating an exceptional dim atmosphere. The newly acknowledged sensation consisted of all sorts of healing herbs and spices that grew only in specific parts of the Rhovanion region. For some Edenir was positive existed exclusively within the borders of the Realm, making them even more of a rare, valuable commodity, but a few he did manage to recognize from the memories of his faraway home. There was a fine drop of honey with a hint of wild roses, a distinctive share of young rosemary, an admirable amount of aeons thúl, and the prevailing portion of Yavanna's tears. Edenir was faintly familiar with their efficiency and even possessed a slight knowledge of the usage of healing methods since life after the banishment did not come along with healers to do it in his stead. **(Aeons** **thúl** **= Angel's breath)**

Eventually Edenir's predictions turned out to be correct. The group found itself in an underground corridor with a healing chamber at the each side. The low ceiling of hard stone poured into a massive pillar at the corner of each healing room, serving more as a partition. A flickering movement of blazing torches inside the chambers illuminated the path and the ceiling of the corridor in a gentle, soothing manner, relaxing the suffering patients to its best ability to distract them from their endless agony. As the group progressed further to where the corridor ended with another stairway leading below the path, Aireiel stole a squint at the chambers since there was no partition in front of them preventing her from craning her neck a little bit further behind the pillars. Although being reminded of the privacy that should be respected and warned of the silence that ought to be preserved, Aireiel's curiosity seemed to pay no mind to even consider heeding those advices. Her feet roamed their own way, distancing from the group for a few short steps, when her eyes wandered to one of the sufferers swathed in half-unfolded, stained fabric that was meant to stop the injury on the patient's abdomen from releasing so much blood. It laid uncovered just enough for her to find the severe wound that was the cause of the massive blood loss and the patient's bony, pale face. Before she could secretly sneak into the room that was currently devoid of a healer assigned for the sufferer's recovery and nursing, two unanticipated things happened at once that dragged Aireiel back to reality; the pair of eyes on the sallow face she deemed was either dead or in deep sleep flashed open directly into her face which startled her to such level she couldn't immediately register the hard grip on her arm, forcing her into the other direction, away from the mysterious victim. When she finally managed to point her gaze into the direction she was being pulled to, her nerves sent a cold, intense shiver down her spine and arms.

"You are not supposed to linger in this area," Legolas repeated the guard's warning.

In the instant she could pull herself back together and become aware of the person dragging her away from the previous subject of her attention, she knew his words were intentionally cold and forced. He did not let his eyes stop on her even once, despite Aireiel creating a foolish assumption in her head that he might wished to. She ordered her mind and body to remain as calm as steel and not to overreact at the needless force he used to escort her back to the tail of the group where they remained until they occupied one of the chambers themselves. When they reached the end of the group, just behind Edenir and Meatherion, she was being placed directly at Legolas's side, his profile exposed to her shocking gaze. Not even properly aware of the insolent stare she had just employed to observe the stoic Prince next to her, she became too engrossed in exploring his sharp, polished features gracing his face to even care. After being left to her miserable hope that perhaps their paths may cross again one day and the derisory chance of it actually happening, this truly was an outrageous situation. His determined, emotionless stare of the path ahead revealed nothing except the fact that she will never know what exactly _did_ go through his mind when he first saw her. His blatant stubbornness, smarting disdain of the situation he got himself into, and that painful tension she could not place combined into a mysterious expression that was settled on his pale face.

The fact that he remained in the position in which the two reached the group did strike Aireiel as a bit odd and incongruous with the demeanour he delivered earlier, but she chose to dwell on the matter no more. Although her infuriatingly inquisitive subconscious burned with the desire to ascertain the reason for Legolas's changing behaviour and contradicting actions, she decided it was best to repress the need and wait for the right opportunity for the Prince to explain himself as for her to ask the questions she'd been meaning to ever since her father reintroduced her to him. But regardless of the inner moral voice whispering the need to constrain herself from being uncouth, she knew they would have to speak sooner or later, and in that situation she will not ignore the other inner need to bring up the questions that had only been piling up from the moment they were dismissed by the King.

* * *

The minute Thranduil was certain the group had left the ground floor for the healing chambers, he agitatedly rose from his throne, absently scanned the surroundings as if in deep contemplation, and rushed to his private accommodations. The recent encounter caused his mind to boil with questions demanding urgent explanation that were about to flare if not attended to in short time. He was amply pleased to had seen Meatherion prove himself and his loyalty once again by fulfilling his King's orders, but he had to admit he was a bit confused about what exactly did he bring to him. It was certainly unexpected on Thranduil's part, although it was still a more pleasant sight than hearing heaps of empty excuses and contrived elaborations as to why the mission had not been successful in all ways imaginable except confessing they had failed to follow simple rules. Meatherion was never the one to displease, disappoint or fail in any regard, otherwise he wouldn't have revelled in the position allocated by the King himself. But the niggling truth persisted nonetheless, and Thranduil was aware of it the second he was informed of the tragic murder. It would be a challenging task, even if under the command of such experienced warrior as Meatherion. Even though the last thing the Lord Commander heard his King say was a ruthless, threatening order that would plant fear in the bones of even the most accomplished commanders, Thranduil couldn't ignore the fact there was a hint of bluff in the confident voice he used to articulate his command. He had lived through enough to be conscious of the threats of evil the Middle Earth faced daily and had been ruling long enough to even had battled against it alongside his father. Sending even an inconsequential amount of soldiers to the location where evil was allegedly regaining its strengths was a peril great enough to spur war that was now definitely on the rise. As confused as he might had been about the purpose of the mysterious pair found at the ruins of Dol Guldur, Thranduil retained his faith into the Gods and their mightiness. For wherever they were leading him, there was undoubtedly a reason for it.

Still by Legolas's side, exposed to his firm, clenching jaw, Aireiel was suddenly becoming slowly affected by the consequences of the event at Dol Guldur. Her already weary eyes submerged to a dark golden shade with hints of toxic green, indicating they would soon close from excessive exhaustion that had only now begun to kick in, earlier concealed by the thrilling excitement. The previous tenacious, incessant incline of her head loosened which caused her neck to almost invisibly swing towards the floor. An abrupt dizziness and progressing nausea enfeebled her body, implacably reducing her strengths and abating her ability to concentrate about what was happening to her. Her waned body would soon fall to the ground and attract the shaken looks as from the group as from inside of the chambers if it weren't for a fast, strong grip clasping her waist, securing her just in time before dramatically plunging to the hard floor. If her mind had remained intact and capable of processing the following events, she would've been pleasantly surprised at who saved her from the fall, but the exact opposite of it thwarted her to even react to the grip except not collapse to the ground but remaining safe in the embrace of her savour.

The next moment she was able to fully comprehend and properly respond to was finding herself laid onto the firm, yet comfortable bed facing the immensely thick pillars on the each side and a vast entrance in front. It was not exactly an entrance as it was simply a wide arch capable of welcoming even five people at a time. When she finished observing her surroundings and decided to focus on _how_ she got here, her head fiercely spun first to her right, and when she found an empty seat next to her bed she tried her left whereupon her heart almost ceased beating. The Prince himself rested on one of the seats near the bed, flagrantly observing her with a bleak look. At first glance Aireiel thought she'd sensed appraisal behind the darkness of his stare, perhaps even a scold. But once the look deepened she realised just how wrong she was for it was far from a simple cold, apathetic reproach. It hid more emotion (which Aireiel was unable to discern due to the impressive shield Legolas employed to protect himself from succumbing to the overwhelming desire to confess everything that pestered him), heat, and concern that she had ever received from the Prince before.

The azure churning in his eyes like a wild, dangerous sea continued to burn inside her, accidentally revealing more than his words ever could and certainly more than he had intended to. The depth of his light cerulean eyes betrayed pure, instinctive concern that appeared all but arranged. Only a fool would see past the shade of fear in his eyes of possibly spilling too much emotion, giving her false hope, and spurring all sorts of theories Legolas most definitely wanted to avoid, discourage, and quell at the first sign of life. But as much as he was aware of the risk and danger he was getting himself into by being so exposed to her and his bleeding heart almost right in her sight, he could not and by the love of the Gods would not turn his eyes from her. He hated to admit it to himself that the anguish of seeing her so weak and the worry for her future well-being got the best of him, gradually crushing down the walls of what little discipline and restraint he had left to defend himself with against the strident force of sentiment.

In almost exact same moment their lips parted to express each of their own thoughts on the current awkward scene, but as soon as they realised it they both vanished into their embarrassment and centred their gazes as far away from each other as allowable. After they had overcome the first wave of shame, Legolas decided to look back at her, feeling obliged to explain her current state.

"The wounds you have received both physically and mentally have left a grave damage on your body. The healers have tended to it and assured me you are not facing any dangers unless you defy the prescript of resting until it is time to replace the compress," his voice declared.

Aireiel shivered at the rough clarity of his voice because for the first time in (after all that had transpired in the last few weeks) what seemed an entire century his words were intended solely for her, and just the thought of him compiling together words that were directed only to her set another wave of unnerving warmth through her body. She might have been overreacting at the way his polite words sounded like a poem of heaven when leaving his lips or how light she felt when under the inspection of his drilling gaze, but either way what she knew for a certainty was that this imprudent thinking of hers had to stop this instant. Not only that she couldn't dare to allow any trace of her thoughts come to surface of her face but also she knew that sort of thinking will bring only more distraction and confusion to further interactions with the Prince (which would definitely come to pass since she had a feeling the King required some information from her and her father, and until he got what he desired they were to be detained in this palace). Adding yet another disgraceful appearance in front of him _and_ possibly the King to the string of her embarrassing appearances in front of royalty wouldn't exactly enable her to gain more confidence and poise when it was expected of her.

She let out an anxious sigh before replying, as if it would eliminate it from expanding in her mind. "I am deeply thankful for what you have done for me and my father, my Prince. We do not know how to appropriately express our gratitude."

Keeping the line of formality between them seemed only appropriate in these unfortunate conditions and by being the first to encourage it awoke a feeling of respect and graciousness she failed to deliver earlier. But as soon as she uttered her appreciation the skin around Legolas's eyes narrowed for a short moment and then relaxed once again before he decided to speak his mind.

"What were you doing on that hill, Aireiel?"

Apparently he was oblivious (or ignorant) of Aireiel's eager endeavour to recover her lost deference and self-respect for he surely startled her with his sudden approach, demanding serious elaboration of her past. Once she'd realised she did not know how to answer that question with exact honesty, his look stiffened, and only then she became aware of how much of an inconvenience getting on the wrong side of the Prince would present.

"I don't exactly have an answer to this question," she replied, deliberately leaving out the formal address despite her conscience brutally commanding her otherwise.

"As I understood from the Lord Commander's report you were found half-conscious on the top of the stronghold alongside with your father, also unresponsive, surrounded by mythical creatures. Now, my reason, which I hope still serves its duty, tells me that you were either dragged there by force or climbed the hill yourself, followed by your father," he pointed out. "I have given you more than sufficient options to pick from. Which one shall you choose?"

The first reaction that ignited within her was the surprise at the harsh, scathing tone of his exacting words that implied her answer to his first question to be false (which, in fact, was both false and correct, due to Aireiel's incomprehension of the events). As soon as she began to decide between the two given explanations she came across a contradiction with herself. How could she choose between those answers when she did not know their credibility and validity? How could she answer his question under the constraint and under the pressure to simply satisfy the inquisitive Prince without actually knowing it to be the truth she could defend with real facts (if she, indeed, had the privilege to possess them)? She knew there was no way she could allow herself to either lie to him or give him no answer at all for the same pressure and burden would undoubtedly fall onto her father's shoulders in case she would be unable to provide the Prince with a serious response. She figured the only way to survive this without being tarnished for inappropriate behaviour or accused of obstruction of justice was to simply tell the truth as she knew it.

"I cannot give you a valid answer if I do not possess the memory of the incident, therefore I cannot defend my actions that happened under my will or otherwise," was her final, equally harsh response.

"You do realise it must have something to do with where you come from, right?" the Prince alluded but without success because the next thing that crossed Aireiel's mind was that she completely forgot about Legolas being privy to such knowledge.

"I haven't thought about that," Aireiel confessed silently, her voice trailing away after reasoning with herself that Legolas wouldn't expose her status without a good cause (an extortion barely sounded anything like him to be even close to fit a good cause) as she agreed to believe the first time she stepped through the entrance gates.

But once she gathered the courage to look the Prince in the eyes, she saw the previously stern stare was replaced with a soft, comforting regard that radiated compassion, believing her words to be sincere. She mentally sighed with relief as this was the proof he finally decided to believe every word she said from now on of how she had absolutely no idea of what happened on that hill and for what purpose. He extended his long legs as his hands visibly relaxed from the stiff position they had been in for at least the entire time of the conversation if not longer. Aireiel was not exactly determined about the reason for the sudden loosening of his limbs for it could be both agreeing there was nothing of value he could get from her because of her memory loss or it could present a great disappointment he felt towards her. Aireiel prayed for the truth not to be the latter.

Before anything else could be said on the subject, Aireiel felt a stinging, unpleasant soreness on the left side of her torso which she only now saw was covered in thick fabric. She was unable to react fast enough to hide the discomfort exposing on her face; as a result she released a quick but audible squeak that appeared more as a whine than a sound of a person courageously enduring the pain that had afflicted them. Legolas instantly jumped to her side, intuitively put his long fingers on the wound, and pressed gently on it to confirm the source of the pain to be the place of the injury in the process of healing. Aireiel's eyes flashed to his side, obviously indicating her shock at the sudden change of proximity. He returned the gaze but as he quickly looked at the wound again it was evident that his main concern did not appear to be their unanticipated closeness but rather the state of her injury.

"Does this hurt?" he softly asked, his fingers covering the bloodstain that had seemed to expand and leak through the fabric with high speed.

Aireiel bashfully nodded in reply, unable to remove her impudent stare off the Prince's worried face.

"Your wound is not as fatal as it may appear. The healers have met far more dangerous challenges and precarious states, so any doubt that might prevent you from trusting the healing methods used to cure your wound is needless. You are in very good hands, I can assure you," he professed while stroking the irritated spot without his awareness.

Indeed, his soothing voice successfully unburdened her of the fear the wound might fester or wouldn't make any significant progress in healing which would chain her to bed for several weeks to come. Not that she didn't enjoy this place, it was simply the feeling of helplessness and subjection that she hated. She loathed to think she would present a burden to him or to the court for that matter.

Aireiel was glad to see the previously uncertain and frail stage of their exceptional relation progressed to a more comfortable, congenial one. She realised he was not as bitter and conceited as he was confused about the situation himself when he tried to conceal the sheer surprise that overcame him earlier today. Aireiel had an undying, abiding faith in people she had the opportunity to meet; a rare type of faith that beckoned her to retain the trust and reliance regardless of the emotional turbulence those people might put her through. This persistent part of her commanded her not to give up on people for she would surely not like to receive the same neglect and abandonment in return (even when a part of her knew she owed absolutely nothing to those people). The coexistence with the raw nature and its wavering whims, unsettled environment, and perpetual unexpected twist of fate embedded an infallible, omniscient instinct in her deep tissue and bones so she carried it with her at all times. Being the owner of such exceptional gift (as Aireiel liked to name it) did not always awake only good and encouraging feelings that would be responsible for her future confidence and assurance when it would come to interactions with people; there was also a negative side to each seeming benefit. What Aireiel inadvertently came across in the early discoveries and explorations of the mentioned gift was that sometimes the instinct would subconsciously _warn_ her of possible perils in certain situations. Obeying the inner warning, Aireiel would fortunately always successfully avoid unsolicited predicaments that would lead to an abundance of unpleasant complications.

This was the very reason why the young elleth's mind and spirit seemed so off track, so disoriented and adrift in the past few weeks. Her inner compass had apparently broken, and left her poor soul to orientate and guide itself to its best ability out of the mess it had found itself in. Constantly she would receive mixed, ambiguous signals, her mind exhausted from continuous strain of ascertaining which information was correct and which was trying to mislead her. She found out that ever since she stepped through the palace gates she'd been pestered by the uncertainty of her own mind, the turmoil of her soul, and the exasperating agitation debilitating her whole body. She figured it must have been because of that gnawing worry she'd allowed to crawl inside her mind without the slightest concern of the possible detrimental corollary it would bring. But yet another protruding fact burned her eye, a fact that was impossible to ignore even if she tried (an action in which she somehow did not see sense); that the same worry that had appeared at the beginning of the journey to the Elvenking's Halls, that increased throughout her father's traditional chronicles of the folk of the Woodland Realm, and achieved its peak when escorted through the gates, had begun to lessen its grip on her consciousness with each breath she took from the moment of the beginning of the conversation she had with Legolas. Reluctantly, she was beginning to understand that he was slowly becoming some sort of remedy of hers; a soft lilt soothing her restless thoughts in the darkness of the night, an invisible, gentle touch caressing her shivering body, casting away and consuming the poison with a mere, pure fondle of his bare hands. Not even she was capable of comprehending the meaning behind this sudden change nor was she sure such deed would bring much comfort or relief regarding the mysteriousness of their relationship, but there was one thing she was absolutely certain of. Whatever was beginning to grow inside her and whatever (or whoever) was the cause of it, it was something she had never experienced before, and for the first time in centuries she was at the very edge of tasting the sweet rush and sinful temptation of something unknown unfolding before her – sneaking at the reach of her hand, teasing the tip of her tongue. And she should be damned by the merciless hands of the Gods if she would even dare to blink away the inevitable adventure that was obviously displaying before her.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Edenir was devastated and petrified, to say the least, when he heard the news of his daughter succumbing to pain again. The stealthy traces of familiar fear crept back from the void where they originated, paralysing his movements and crippling his limbs that froze in a grotesque position after being held back by one of the healers tending to his several flesh wounds. His demands and pleads to see Aireiel fell to deaf ears as the healers urged him to rest for his wounds were far from finished bandaging and even further from being healed if he should continue with this rapid, erratic behaviour.

"You do not understand," he implored with feigned patience and suppressed wrath, "she needs me."

The healers' grip enhanced although they preserved the expression on their pale, smooth faces in the same mysterious, inexplicable serenity. Observing their indifferent, impervious features and how they did not even flinch to display empathy towards his suffering, increased Edenir's futile rage as he continued to resist. From time to time he could detect restrained whispers and mutters, coming out more as a prayer, and to even encourage the thought of them praying for _him_ made Edenir release whatever of that ferocity he had left.  
A distressing thought entered his sensitive mind then, a thought so strident and palpable it made him loosen the tension in his muscles he used to defend himself against the forces holding him back.

 _What if they did something to her?_ _What if she is calling for me again and I am unable to reach her? What if I fail her once more, only this time shall be fatal?_

 _I should have listened,_ he cried in his mind as his head fell towards the floor, _I should have noticed her discomfort, her apprehension when we entered those gates._

 _Perhaps she was right. This was, after all, a home of heartless traitors and greedy, narcissistic ellyn, unworthy of their title and blood._

But before any more damage could be made both to his mental state as the chamber in which he was being forcefully held, a familiar, slim figure entered through the entrance, casually slipping beneath the vast arch that emphasized the guest's tall, proportioned body. Due to the droplets increasing in size that began to gather in his slightly ajar eyes he could not immediately recognize the guest, what he did manage to ascertain within a couple of seconds was that he must have seen that figure recently.

"Gwanno," a feminine voice commanded. Edenir felt deep relief as he noticed the hands that forced him into the uncomfortable position now disappeared, even though the place where they used to restrain him shall be marked with an unpleasant bruising. **(Leave us.)**

The elleth fully scanned the patient sitting on the edge of the bed with her poisonous green eyes. His impaired body rested with the back hunched and the shoulders limp as if they suddenly submitted to the extreme fatigue experienced after a cruel defeat. Tauriel was shocked at his cold indifference towards her. She knew her arrival did not go unnoticed on his part, yet ever since the healers released his arms as ordered he did not care to offer her a single look, not even a brief glance of either approval or dislike. Since Edenir was nothing more than a strange captive from foreign lands to her, she could not believe the bitter chagrin to be anything greater than that, but somehow she could feel herself starting to become curious, even worried about the unknown elf's story everyone had been making such fuss about. Casting all the unworthy, disturbing thoughts away from her mind, replacing them with the rectitude and sharp approach that helped her climb the very top of the social ladder, she fixed the disobedient locks obstructing her vision behind her ears. In the hours of her training she was allowed to wear her hair in whatever style seemed the most suitable not appropriate, and whenever she was called to meet with the King or servants of higher position it was expected of her to adhere to the dress code the court provided and respect the traditional fashion of the Wood Elves.

"Rest easy," she announced after assuming enough time had passed for both of them to accustom to each other's presence. "Your daughter is safe. Our best healers have tended to her wounds which are merely scrapes and are assuredly expected to be seamlessly healed in a week's time." She paused to quickly observe his bandaged palms, left forearm, and a few glossy spots at the side of his face that were under the care of an ointment mixture of several healing herbs. "You have received far greater wounds that required a few stitches which will leave certain marks. However, you hardly strike me as an ellon who would seem bothered by such-"

"I wish to see my daughter," Edenir insisted. He politely waited for her to finish with the superfluous elaboration of what sort of damage his body had sustained (as if he did not know anything of the perils an armed combat led to; he stopped himself from spitting that out just in time due to his blessed realization he is to maintain a low profile while under the King's generous patronage) but now when they'd passed the seeming formalities that only fleetingly managed to conceal true interest both harboured deep inside of them he intended to continue with his stubbornness and shall not allow to be misled by the elleth's feigned heart-warming smile. He will not trust a single one she was planning on using until he was convinced with his own eyes that Aireiel was truly safe and sound.

The soft flow in Tauriel's eyes of green streams she had employed to ease the ellon's worries appeared to had been used in vain. Now, they whirled, foamed, and occasionally beat against the brown rocks that were the spots in her colourful irises. She may had not known this ellon personally but she was definitely becoming to; the insistent requests and tireless determination indicated extreme obstinacy which was not always a wanted nor acceptable virtue.

"I understand your concern," she began with a little impatience trembling in her voice, "but I can personally assure you she is in good hands. I believe you should direct your impetuous worries elsewhere, for instance how you are intending to explain the events at the hostile fortress."

Tauriel knew such tactics would not only caught him by surprise but also force him into considering an appropriate, yet succinct answer that could possibly lead to an interesting turn in their conversation.

"And I believe it is not in your place ordering me what it is I should do," Edenir spat. "I am not obliged to clarify anything to anyone if it is not under the command of my own will."

"You might want to reassess that for it is, if I understand your implications correctly, after all King Thranduil's clemency you are questioning here," was her sly reply upon which she added, "I wouldn't dare to go as far to challenge your King's patience if I were in your position."

Before he could hear himself protest against her untruthful and iniquitous accusations of that pretentious, flaunting, blonde creature being something even close as his rightful ruler, he was bothered by the little triviality at the end of her sentence.

"And how exactly would you assess my position?" he prompted.

His nifty evasion provoked a quick twist of the corners of her elongated, full lips, and in that moment she carelessly let defeat of her cunning game escape and show on her features. Tauriel was never given the hard task of interrogating the inmates herself, but she simply could not resist prying into this most devious, suspicious matter. Given her official title, she was authorized to treat the 'guests' with all the hospitality she was prepared to share. The only small detail that seemed the most contradicting to this law was that her hospitality was near dried out when the very bit that somehow still seemed persistent was almost entirely filled with hatred, rage, and contempt flooding the void of the lacking hospitality.

"You are walking on a rather thin ice, I should point out," Tauriel replied with regained confidence, leaning against the massive stone pillar. "There is only one way that shall keep you from breaking and falling into that ice – two, if the King's in a good mood – and that path is the path of truth. If you are to take on the path of your obstinacy and choose not to inform us of what you have seen at Dol Guldur... well, let's just say you shall take it to the grave. But if you heed my advice, you are entitled to an appeal for a reprieve."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I am merely offering you the option of freedom which under the usual circumstances does not come this easily. Since your information might be of great use to the Council you are to receive the exact same treatment as any other captive with the exemption of you and your daughter having private accommodations, ordered personally by the King. If you choose to cooperate, it would be our aim for you to have the image of the Realm preserved in a pleasant memory."

Followed by a roguish smile, Tauriel finished her sentence with utter satisfaction, knowing her precise selection of words would now undoubtedly catch the ellon in her net of scheme. Earning a few additional points and including them to her personal inventory of making herself useful to the King would only benefit her with the further development of her military career. She was convinced being the one responsible for the ellon to squeak shall cover her in many compliments and salutations coming both from the respectable, honourable officers and generals as the high officials occupying one of the most important positions in the Council.

Tauriel wouldn't exactly call herself parvenu or obsessed (not that she deemed those words negative); it was the words like _ambitious_ and _diligent_ she preferred to use when compelled to describe herself. It would be a filthy lie used only to please certain individuals if she stated being in charge of a small army and not to mention the only elleth in this ruthless profession was always a pleasant duty. Undeniably, being born to a capable warlord in the middle of a cold winter she had war and combat in her blood, but her ancestry was seldom a reason for either her accomplishments and feats in the battlefield as well as her personal progress regarding the relationships she nourished within the palace walls. Most of her praiseworthy deeds out there were due to her exceptional skills she obtained in the long hours of training her King had enabled her since the day he accepted her under his wings, and most of her valuable, significant connections she had inside the palace were achieved by the furtive hypocrisy, controlled flatter, and occasional manipulation she learned from her superiors. Once she looked at herself in a reflection in the lonely evenings she saw nothing laudable, honourable or noble in her eyes nor her deeds. It was a game she was simply proficient and trained in. Even Men had died for a more justifiable, moral causes than her sole purpose for existence. There was nothing deserving or worthy about her; only gore and blood.

"I gather you have chosen silence to contemplate your options over pigheadedness. Wise choice," she declared drily. "The guards will come to escort you to the throne room when the King shall express the need for your presence. Until then, you'd be doing me a most generous favour of not having to use my recently polished and coated arrows by remaining in this chamber, otherwise this visit could become quite an inconvenience for you."

With informing the captive of the consequences his attempt of escape would inspire, she swiftly took her leave. Greeting the inmate was not extremely difficult, yet it did not fully go according to her plans either. Suddenly she realised they were playing a game of ruse and manipulation, and although she was a master of it she was not blind not to see her opponent had an ample of experience himself. To rephrase her previous words: they were _both_ walking on thine ice here. One slight, innocent mistake and they would both fall into the nature's merciless hands.  
Normally, she wouldn't be bothered by the usual impression her acquaintances had of her, in fact she was almost proud of it. She enjoyed the idea of others being frightened of her mighty skills and fearless persona. The recent encounter unintentionally opened her mind, forcing an unwanted realization that perhaps this illusion she'd created for herself _and_ for others wasn't as successful as she originally wanted it to be. The idea of people seeing through her and all of her secrets suddenly becoming known to the outer world made her stomach do unpleasant twists. But years of experience in the militia and all the political plots and dangerous schemes that came with it made her realise that not every plan was thought, hatched, and executed to perfection. It always had secret flaws and holes that appeared in the worst of times, in the middle of greatest crisis; and still she was able to fix them. But now that her _own_ plan about herself had began to fall behind and slowly crush down her seeming wall of confidence her experience and proficiency did not seem to aid her in any way. She was to save herself as usual: with improvisation and a little bit of hope.

* * *

It was again one of those plain, tedious mornings in the Realm when everyone seemingly enjoyed the comfort of their own solitude and peacefully awaited their next obligation, when underneath the mask the nation collectively wore for the sake of its own protection everyone fervently awaited the hardly anticipated verdict on the murder of one of the Council members that was announced to be declared on this day. The unresolved matter left grave consequences on each member of the society, and despite the constant assurances from the King's officials the culprit shall be convicted and face appropriate charges, the fact that the murderer was still free, agitated and upset the folk. Until the time they will see that the person responsible for the massacre was accordingly dealt with their souls shall be restless and unruly.

The word spreading around the court like wildfire (which was, of course, the work of all the court ladies' maids and servants sneaking behind each corner to catch at least one lurid scoop) had it the guards had already captured alleged offenders; apparently they'd even engaged in armed combat, hence the bleeding wounds the offenders had received, according to reports of a close eye witness. Others claim the rumours to be incorrect for the captives are merely another case of unfortunate vagabonds straying too far over the borders and are to face their justice. Regardless of what the silent majority decided to believe, the inhabitants had never been more anxious about a trial before (even though the First Sage clearly explained the captives shall simply cooperate in an interrogation that might reveal additional details connected to the recent murder), and when the verdict will be revealed, both relief and appeasement will linger in the Halls of the Elvenking.

Calaron was nervously walking up and down the throne room, occasionally brushing his fingers against his high forehead to encourage his deep contemplation. The fact that he was the one responsible to carry the news of the verdict and deliver it to the nation had been tormenting him since yesterday evening when he learned of this obligation and that it was his concern from now on. Public speeches, full of encouraging and inspiring words and being the one people would turn to in case of disagreement or protest were nothing new to him. In fact, he found the job quite suitable and appropriate for his cold, unsentimental nature. Yet he trembled at the thought of having to stand up in front of those people, admit that the culprit had not yet been seized, and confirm the reports on the post-mortem of the young Council member – that he had, in fact, been murdered by the hand of the Darkness. Calaron's heart froze at the mere thought of having to compose those basic facts into a logical, understandable sentence which would at the same time corroborate the idea of the Shadow's return. But it was the price he was willing to pay. It was the price of another mayhem and chaos ruling in the Elvenking's Halls in order to admit it to themselves that the Realm is at war. He believed being slapped with the truth rather than caressed with a lie would eventually only benefit them with the realization the world needed to be prepared for invasion at any time. And that realization would buy them the valuable, precious time of truly being equipped for the inevitable – war.

Just as he was formulating the last bits of the prepared speech, he heard light footsteps approaching from the West stairway. He quickly turned around to see one of the King's servants ascending the stairs in front of the throne.

"My Lord," the servant began as he reached an appropriate distance, "the King wishes to inform you he will join you soon in the meeting chamber. He also expressed the need of the captive's presence in the Council meeting. His Majesty emphasized the importance of the situation and wishes the pair to acknowledge that fact as well."

"Isn't it a bit too early for that?" Calaron doubted.

"As I said, my Lord," the servant repeated, "King's orders."

The First Sage barely visibly nodded while he let his eyes explore the stone floor beneath his feet. He did not bother to notice the servant's departure. His mind was too busy swimming through the flood of newly formed thoughts that mainly consisted of worry and qualm. Never in his time of faithful service to his homeland did he feel the need to be seriously concerned with the King's orders, let alone doubt their justification. He trusted the King, the only person authorized to act on the behalf of the will of the Gods, to fulfil this ambitious task efficiently and impeccably for he was the only person Calaron knew was capable of something like this, despite of his personal adverseness towards him or their occasional disputes. Although he might not be the person who was most fond of the King's characteristics and whims, he had to admit it; no one else's effort could match his endeavour, no one else possessed the skills that could compare to his experience, and nobody bore the courage to lead this Realm as he was prepared to.  
Not even once in all those years he did not trust his superior with this great task. Until today. He saw no reasonable intention in this order since he believed the captives could be as dangerous as any before, not to mention such meetings were usually held and attended exclusively by the members of the Council or honoured guests. Subjects mentioned and discussed in the privacy of the meetings are meant to stay confidential and inviting unknown guests might result in unwanted repercussions.

While he pondered about how to present this matter with caution and attention to the King, he decided to move towards the chamber room since he did not want to be late. He roamed the ancient corridors for a quite a few long minutes before he found his path crossed by his old friend.

"Meatherion," he uttered quietly, not wishing to expose his surprise.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

"Oh, not at all," Calaron invited the Lord Commander to accompany him on his way with a slight gesture of his hand.

Meatherion remained silent most of the time, his unusual quietness igniting sparks of suspicion in the Sage's mind until the Commander decided to end it just a single step away from the chamber entrance. The sudden halt surprised Calaron, but he felt there was a good reason behind it.

"I am sorry for this rude interruption," the Lord Commander began insecurely, "but as the leader of the recent expedition I feel obliged to express my judgement on its effectiveness."

Those words baffled the First Sage since he unsuccessfully attempted to find any relevance in his statement. If he recollected correctly, Meatherion not only by far managed to surpass the King's expectations regarding the purpose of the mission, but also brought them useful witnesses that the Council could have great use of. The Sage's confusion only seemed to had progressed when he noticed a worried look resting in Meatherion's eyes for which he could not find valid explanation. As far as he was concerned, Meatherion had accomplished his task with flying colours, thus Calaron failed to see the reason behind his sudden apprehension.

"But you have already filed in the report on the mission," Calaron reminded him in hope that would refresh his friend's memory and extinguish that piece of anguish that troubled him. "And His Majesty had approved it which we both know is quite a rarity when it comes to that."

"I am aware of that, but I think there's something you would want to know that was not included in the report," Meatherion insisted while avoiding the curious looks he was receiving from the guards in front of the meeting chamber. "Something _I_ want _you_ to know."

Calaron warily bit his bottom lip and encouraged his friend to begin with the explanation, "Speak your mind, friend."

"There is something I intentionally did not mention when the captives were faced with the King," Meatherion started, his head subconsciously sinking towards the floor.

"What forced you to make that decision?"

"My instinct, Calaron," the Lord Commander quietly hissed. "Which had proven incorrect and misleading once the captives were sent to the healing chambers."

The First Sage parted his lips in order to pose yet another question that would indicate doubt in his friend's statement, but he managed to stop himself just in time for the Commander had begun to further elaborate the failure of his instinct.

"Remember the vision I told you about in your chamber? The one right before the murder?" Meatherion hurried. Calaron nodded in response with the same haste. "I experienced the same thing when I was leaving the healing chambers to return to the headquarters, only this time it was accompanied by foul voices spitting harmful words."

"What kind of words?"

"They were whispers," Meatherion spoke even quieter, "in Dark Speech."

"And you believe that is in some way connected to the captives?" Calaron sounded more distrustful than he had intended to (perhaps as a part of his defence mechanism), and Meatherion sensitively responded to this observation.

"Well, we did find them at Dol Guldur," he defensively replied.

Calaron sighed and switched in his stiff position. He knew he was already tardy to the King's call due to his comrade and his slow walking pace, but there was something in this conversation he knew wouldn't let him be if he dropped it this instant. He knew he would have to get to the bottom of this matter before it spread across the palace.

"What else did you find there?" he questioned after a few seconds of thorough consideration.

"What do you mean?"

"At the ruins, of course." Sometimes Calaron truly wondered at the miracle of his friend becoming the commander in chief. "A sign, a trail," the Sage waved with his arms passionately, "anything that might indicate the two could be linked to the Shadow and could be transporting its power within the borders of the Realm."

"I suppose we weren't searching for anything like that," Meatherion replied after a minute. A sudden loud exhale was more than enough of a proof of what Calaron thought of his friend's reply.

"As I said," Meatherion defended himself, "my instinct immediately drove me to the wounded. I did not have time for anything else, although I now regret my disregard of other details."

"Think, mellon," Calaron patiently prompted. "Even the slightest detail you might have marked as insignificant or irrelevant could change everything."

Despite the Sage's earnest entreaty, the warrior failed to recall any specific trifles that might had slipped his mind earlier. He knew even a single detail he most likely overlooked at the very scene could be the key that would solve the mystery about the capture of the pair. The most effective solution he could think of at that stressful moment was that he replayed each scene from the first step they took on the contaminated land. And right then it hit him like the mighty force of the Gods themselves would strike through his mind. The sudden look of epiphany was not ignored by Calaron who merely stood in front of the enlightened warrior.

"The sword," Meatherion breathed.

"What sword?" Calaron suspiciously squinted at his friend.

"The unexplained sword that was found lying next to the ellon," the Commander hurried, his palms flying through air, creating unexplainable movements that only seemed to confuse Calaron more than he already was. "It was lying next to him, bare and glowing right in front of my eyes. I passed it to my inferiors whose fascination of the sword I could not explain. I did not care about it at the time, but I believe it needs further examination. I think it might be the source of the whispers."

The dramatic conclusion to Meatherion's elaboration left Calaron speechless. How could they had missed probably the most essential piece of evidence? How was it possible that it had gone unseen, at least to his eyes? Unless someone made sure it went that way. The only route the sword could had possibly made was into the hands of one of the infantry soldiers assigned to this mission. And this realization pointed to only one cold fact – the Shadow had corrupted a soldier's heart into a manifestation of treason and venality in order to collapse the system within its own citadel. But for now, the notion remained only as a highly unlikely conspiracy theory in Calaron's mind.

"Where is the sword now?" he asked.

"It might be stored in the armoury," Meatherion answered slowly, "unless someone had already claimed it."

"It is necessary this news is passed to the rest of the Council and the King. See to it that the weapon is safe and intact, then deliver it to the chamber," the Sage rushed while he began to move towards the location of the meeting to which he was impolitely late. "The war might be upon us sooner than we'd predicted."

With those words the warrior and the Sage turned to their own paths and fled the secret spot they'd occupied for the last few critical minutes, each busy to organize the flood of their own thoughts. While Meatherion was experiencing extreme guilt for not noticing the source of alleged evil was right in front of his nose, Calaron proceeded with his utterly quick pace to minimize the already extensive tardiness to the meeting that might in the end change the fate of the Realm. He was aware of the importance of the message he'd just received and how crucial it is for the rest of the Sages and His Majesty to hear it and offer their opinion on the matter. Any form of consultation with the higher officials and worthy assessments of those in the position to possess the right to express one would slightly ease the tension fiercely forming in his body. The meeting was surely supposed to be used to discuss perilous matters that were indeed related to the news Calaron was now delivering to those present in the chamber, though the news he was carrying were, in fact, of an entirely different nature. However connected to warfare, it was an entirely different pressure as well to be responsible to bear such dreadful, alarming tidings. For the very fact that he _was_ privy to the discovery that the discreetly anticipated war was approaching a lot faster than planned was at the same time both extremely important and dangerous.

"Do we know of the weapon's whereabouts?" one of the Sages spoke after a short pause Calaron offered the currently present to comprehend the meaning of his words.

"The Lord Commander is on his way to find that out," Calaron responded quickly, fervently anticipating a conclusion from the King.

It was a shock, to say the least, what Thranduil experienced after hearing the First Sage's words. Being the ruler of this great land he was supposed to feel responsibility, determination, and relentless energy to fight this audacious evil. But all of the responsibility was replaced by fragility, tenuous determination faded into melancholy, and the vague energy seemed to have turned into a bottomless void of confusion, despair, and hopelessness. He felt weakness and fear weighing down the muscles in his arms that forced his palms to rest before his lips in a professional manner. Despite the concentration and tranquillity his focused expression may have portrayed, Thranduil felt the exact opposite on the inside. Inside, his soul was both hollow from the irresistible temptation of giving in and burning of the desire to destroy everything that ever dared to harass his land and its nation again. It was only a matter of right amount of time which one of those feelings he will let to overcome him.

"Is there anything else anyone would wish to add to this matter?" the King finally decided to address this heinous subject.

"My King, I was hoping we could focus-"

"Our first and foremost concern at the moment are the people, Calaron," Thranduil peacefully interrupted the Sage's polite request to reconsider the ending of the previous subject. "When we sort _that_ problem we shall focus on this one. One step at a time, Calaron."

"We are running out of time, my Lord!" Calaron objected while standing up to confront the King with all his mightiness.

Thranduil turned his head towards the Sage and narrowed his cold eyes for a brief moment before ignoring his invocation and beginning to discuss today's planned proceedings regarding the unfortunate murder. Calaron was outraged at the ruler's obvious disregard of the seriousness of this matter.

"Avoiding your responsibilities won't make a righteous nor virtuous leader out of you," Calaron said simply while organizing the notes beneath his fingertips.

His bold statement served its purpose once the King quit explaining the complications that might possibly occur during his speech to one of the Sages and let his large, slim hand freeze in a gracious move in the air. With his hand calm and still as a statue, he slowly moved his head towards the opposite side of the table where Calaron stood with his intrepid posture, facing his King with all the fire his eyes could produce in that moment.

"Why do you think we are meeting here?" Calaron began, letting his arms swing in the air for a quick moment as he strayed a bit from his seat. He examined his fellow Sages with such daring look no one in the room except the King himself dared to follow that lethal glance. "What is this chamber usually used for? Plotting war strategies and tactics. And what do you think we are _doing_ here? Organizing feasts and discussing which decorations to use in the dining hall? We are in the middle of war, for Gods' sake!"

His manly voice echoed in the ceiling and beat the narrow walls of the small room. Some officials slightly twitched to the rough clarity of his voice and the sharpness of his words. But all knew them to be nothing but mere truth. Calaron knew all of them secretly agreed with him and ached to join him but their low positions forbid them to execute such acts that could, in the end, possibly contradict the King's will, and no one had the desire to oppose their ruler at the moment. All knew that the inevitable was upon them, and all awaited their superior to finally admit it. Suddenly, every single pair of eyes turned towards Thranduil in blatant expectation, shamelessly hoping their King shall lead them through this misery.

It was true that the role Calaron now chose to adopt did belong to the rightful leader. Composing brave, inspirational sentences was never an ability Calaron would mark as a quality, but in desperate situations like this he used that ability to the maximum to salvage what was left to be saved. In this moment, he was fighting not only to save and assure the optimal chances of his nation's survival but to try to minimize the casualties Middle Earth should go through. He knew if the Council with King's support won't take appropriate measures when there was still time, they are compromising a lot more than just the Realm's survival. Wars will always be a part of an evolving civilization and great kings will continue to defy it, but in the end it is their leadership during a war that reveals their true competence as rulers. It is the capability of facing and accepting all the risks and consequences that can lead the nation into victory.

The minute Aireiel saw the Prince veg out at her bedside she felt an extreme rush of jitters and apprehension robbing her of her breath and a decent pace of her heart, but never (especially not in that compromising moment at the beginning of their conversation) would she expect his visit to become some form of comfort to her. Perhaps she even surprised herself at feeling this way towards it; being suddenly relaxed and calm in the presence of a person that normally mildly agitated every individual did not sound like her at all. He had some sort of soothing effect on her, the way his voice did not sound immensely irritating and painful like the healers', how even the briefest glance of his endlessly blue eyes was able to ease her internal distress, and how a single caress of his soft hands could eradicate all traces of pain weakening her frail body. He often offered her one of his allaying smiles, and while he was quivering of insecurity on the inside it turned out to be quite a lovely form of support to the wounded elleth.

Legolas did not leave her side ever since he managed to start a casual conversation with her a couple of days ago which came both as a shock (considering his previous concerns about executing such deed) and a pleasant advancement in their peculiar relationship which was still so fresh and vulnerable it could not yet be labelled. He had already admitted to himself that this elleth's well-being seemed to had placed itself rather high on his list of priorities, and that there was something inexplicable about her being. If the whole situation wasn't awkward and strange enough itself, he felt a possessive urge to learn more about her and the life before entering and meeting with his, to uncover her secrets and discover things she had not shared with him already. Besides possessiveness, the whole situation did also indicate quite an inconvenience since he swore to himself to avoid her company as much as it was expectable of him, yet each time he found himself in the same excruciating position of not wanting to leave her side. He decided it was necessary to quell this persuasive need inside of him or else he did not dare to predict the final outcome their friendship would have.

The fact that Aireiel was not aware of (which would possibly drastically change her view on their progressing friendship) was that it was not required of Legolas to stay with the elleth once her bandages were fully and properly placed. It was the pure nature of his kind intention and selfless will alone that were the reason for his extended guardianship which lead to a beautiful consequence of what had become the spontaneous conversation they had now deepened into. The words that in the beginning seemed superfluous and illogical flowed effortlessly into gracious sentences that increased the easiness and lowered the shy restraint in their behaviour. With each word exchanged, a new experience shared, and a diffident glance fired, their natural affection grew in both intensity and dimension without their knowledge.

"And the court ladies were the worst of them all," Aireiel confided rapturously in one of the passionate conversations and exchange of opinions about the unjustified reputation of servants at her old court. "Who would have thought _them_ to have known the most indecent hearsay, let alone be their makers!"

They both enjoyed a quick giggle to the subject, but after that the familiar dead silence bound an invisible thread connecting their eyes that forced them to attract their glances at each other despite their recalcitrant reluctance to do so. The blatant unspoken words were exposed by the occasional polite meeting of those humiliated looks, and even though they might had seemingly bonded over a couple of kind remarks and sympathetic agreements the inevitable burned out of their eyes and nearly breathed out of their lips that were slightly parted at almost every intermission they afforded. Aireiel, suspecting the unavoidable was at last upon her, began to fill the chamber with the useless noise of her meaningless words when Legolas coldly cut her.

"Aireiel," his voice was sharp and unambiguous, "I need to know what happened there."

Aireiel shuddered at the unexpected coldness of his voice although from the moment she heard him say her name she realised what this was about. A discovery even colder than the new sound of his voice sprouted in the corner of her mind that he was merely wasting time with small talk and tolerated her pathetic story telling to get the necessary information out of her. Perhaps it was all part of his scheming plan all along; to slowly, inconspicuously gain her trust in order to claim what was asked of him to obtain from her. She decided it was only the implanted sense of doubt and suspicion clouding her judgement. It did not seem consistent to Aireiel how the Prince would benefit from her explanation since clearly he had not mentioned anything of her real origin to the higher authorities who would undoubtedly benefit from whatever she had to say.

With a hint of suspicion still lingering in her voice she replied: "Like I've explained before, I was not conscious of my actions at the time. I have nothing more to add on the matter."

Legolas sighed with slight irritation (to which Aireiel internally responded with a remorseful growl) as he let his head swing into a direction to his right to rest his eyes from fiercely glancing at the elleth in front of him. Staring at her alone was challenging enough, and he knew posing such uncomfortable questions would be both unpredictable and demanding.

"You know I cannot be satisfied with this answer," he returned to her.

"And what I don't know is what it is that you truly want from me," Aireiel fearlessly defied, continuing with her unwillingness and non-cooperation.

Even though her words might have sounded somewhat unexpectedly alarmed and distrustful (as opposed to Legolas's calm and collected yet deadly choice of words), their meaning was clear to the Prince. Her spirit was obstinate and always on the prowl; proud and unbreakable which Legolas both admired and hated. Although not thoroughly and fully explained to the one he was currently secretly interrogating, his intentions were in fact confirming her dark assumptions that this was, after all, a visit that would most surely benefit him. While he couldn't deny that this was his initial plan, it was also necessary to add it was not hatched by his own mind nor consent for that matter. It was the command from above that assigned him the duty and in such cases there was no time for doubt, only execution. At the end of the day, he may be the Prince of the Woodland Realm and the King's son, but once the orders were a matter of national security being possibly compromised, there was only space for question of when and not why or how will it serve its purpose. And as a faithful, eager soldier and (if the opportunity arose) an enthusiastic leader, Legolas was well aware of that.

"I want the truth," he spat blankly under the influence of the very same thing he wished to receive from Aireiel.

The brutal plainness of that sentence penetrated her heart with more severe force than a sharpened spear. The thing Legolas demanded seemed so simple and tangible but still somehow slightly out of reach. Did she even know the _true_ version of thetruth herself? Or did her feeble mind decided to form one of its own? A part of her wanted to know the answer both to his and her questions to once and for all determine the truth and set straight all of the facts that only further confused her with their chaotic, unsystematic order, when a greater, darker part of her whispered not to deepen in this dangerous subject. But that was the main reason she and her father were treated more as captives or witnesses rather than invited guests, wasn't it? Wasn't the unsettled turn of the past events the bone of contention between the two of them and the authorities of the Woodland Realm? If it was really and only the truth what they were after, Aireiel honestly saw no harm in simply confessing what had happened that day or at least attempt at explaining the bits that remained in her memory.  
What still managed to deter her from immediate mindless confession was the fact she had no knowledge of where her information would end or even to what purposes it shall be used and by whom. That foolish doubt, which she soon successfully discarded as a product of senseless overthinking, entirely disappeared as she pictured the possible outcome of her and Edenir's fate in case she should continue with her sudden taciturnity when asked about the events at Dol Guldur and their authenticity.

Suddenly seeing the sparks of fear flashing her innocent eyes, Legolas added, "I give you my word no harm shall come to you." Aireiel for the first time believed those words to be honest.

"I am only willing to share my story with you if you reveal the reason behind your interest for it," Aireiel wittily compromised, knowing the newly appointed conditions will force him to collaborate under her terms.

"My interest is of pure curious nature," he replied with a devious flame in his eyes, "unless I shall find its content to be suspicious or peculiar. Have we got ourselves a truce?"

"There was never a quarrel upon which a truce should be settled in the first place," was Aireiel's sincere response.

The Prince seemed to had liked the comment for the previous stern line of his lips twisted in a wily smirk. Aireiel's heart fluttered at the sight of his mood changing and at the silly observation hers was astonishingly imitating his.

The elleth began with her elaborate story from the beginning of the moment the two set foot on the hostile territory. With meticulous care she made sure she never skipped a word of description of her state of mind during the period when her body was invaded by a malicious wraith which she depicted as a state of complete confusing blankness and feeling of irritating weakness. The further she deepened into the painstaking explanation of that painful memory, the more the words she had uttered seemed to make more sense than ever before in her dazzled head. But each time she picked up on a new scene she could feel that familiar pain drilling into her temples and chest, freshly reminding her of the unpleasant affliction she went through which had become and shall remain one of her most traumatic experiences after the disappearance of her family members.

Throughout the entire time of her antsy narration she could sense Legolas's serious gaze upon her even in the times her eyes weren't locked directly on his. She deemed it quite thoughtful and polite, even solicitous to some degree. It was more than obvious he was keenly interested in what she had to say, yet still at times Aireiel found herself surprised to see him strictly follow her every word and observe her reactions with gentle nods and murmurs at each pause.

"It was in that vulnerable moment as the spirit called for me when I realised no one was going to save me. Suddenly I became aware of the environment I was in and the fact I was entirely alone. Every single detail started to make sense: there was no sight of any other being around me, the weather was strange, and the surroundings were particularly bizarre. How did I get here? Where is father? To whom does this repugnant voice belong to? I have never been exposed to such extreme circumstances before. I've never felt the death's foul breath so close before."

Legolas seemed wholly absorbed and taken aback by the story. Judging by the both sobriety and amazement curving his features, he had taken her seriously this time – a novelty Aireiel most gladly welcomed. It was obvious he was now contemplating either an appropriate reply to her emotional story or the next question. In whichever scenario, Aireiel noticed he was choosing his words carefully and knowing he would decide to go through such formalities lightened up her heart, even though it was a minor, insignificant observation.

"And where was your father at the time?" Legolas asked.

"I parted with him at the edge of the woods, right in front of the bridge leading to the heart of the ruin. When I was confronted with the faceless demon I was hoping he had fled the scene before the spirit would capture him as well," Aireiel explained. "You see, I would have given anything to have him spared. I would have willingly sacrificed myself to it if that meant my father would be granted freedom and safety in return. Although I should have known he would come back for me. He always worries too much, despite my constant advice against it. I don't know what would have happened to me if it weren't for my father and honestly, I am still not quite caught up on what happened to him up there either. He remains silent about it ever since."

Aireiel's eyes dropped to the ground but quickly returned once she heard the Prince's voice again. "Your father has done one of the greatest courageous deeds for which he is greatly admired among our midst. Sacrifice is the most painful of them all. I must admit I revere your unexpected bravery as well."

"Unexpected?" the elleth's eyes narrowed in mockery.

"Well, in critical situations such as this, one tends to react precipitately and unnaturally according to their usual character. Especially if one isn't affronted by such threats on a daily basis or hasn't been challenged by the deadly grips of panic and dread ever before. The recovery you have made is in fact quite remarkable."

"If you deem me inexperienced in this department, then you are unfortunately mistaken," Aireiel replied with a sad gleam in her eyes. She wished her answer to be false or Legolas's assumptions to be correct, but she could not deny her past forever.

Once he caught her woeful expression, rapid realization overwhelmed the Prince as he became aware of his awful mistake. "Díhena nin eithad, I have forgotten." ( **Forgive my insolence** **)**

"Please, do not apologize. Many years have passed since the tragedy and as they say, it is unhealthy to dwell on the past for too long."

"Who is 'they' you speak of?" Legolas asked rhetorically and continued before Aireiel had the time to answer the question. "Do they not know pain and loss? The suffering of a broken man? My opinion is those who try to deny those feelings' presence are also denying their own existence, and deserve nothing but sheer pity and contempt."

Aireiel was deeply touched by the Prince's kind response and even thought he related to it more than he may had realised. Surprisingly, wisdom grows in most unexpected places.

A moment of uncomfortable silence had passed until Legolas wished to pose a question regarding the weapon the younger maethyr brought to him at the arrival of the group assigned to the mission, but he was interrupted by a loud stomp of feet that indicated extreme rush. At both of Legolas's and Aireiel's surprise, the stomp ceased right in front of their chamber and they could see the first Sage Calaron, the chief commander Meatherion, and an unknown officer leaning their heads below the relatively low ceiling.

"The King wishes to see you," Calaron spoke, yet the slight, inconspicuous tilt of his head, decorated with a tangled silver circlet Calaron was obliged to wear as commanded by the formal dress code, did not reveal whether the order was meant for the Prince or the captive.

When the Prince started to move from his seat and Aireiel peacefully observed his actions, Calaron hurried: "Both of you."

The shock was written all over both of their faces as Legolas's movement froze in time for a split second before returning to what had previously occupied him. But Aireiel could not get the sound of that sentence out of her head. It kept ringing and echoing in her mind, almost making her feel a little wobbly. The mere idea of being placed in front of the King and exposed to his callous, unpredictable nature made her knees barely hold her form in place when they turned into an unstable support. She figured his questions would not greatly differ from his son's, although her relationship with His Majesty (which was formed in the brief moments of the greeting at the arrival a few days ago) could nowhere compare with what she had with Legolas. The fact that he was his son did not change one single thing about her opinion or perspective of the King. He wished to crush her, and she could feel it. He did not gain his reputation for being a merciful, complaisant leader, but rather for his acts of enacting regulations no other realm or region would dare to perform. That alone made it obvious enough why Aireiel felt almost breathless when informed she was to meet with that horrifying person again.

The pair was kindly escorted by the trio with Calaron warmly navigating them towards the exit through the west wing. Legolas and Aireiel walked side by side, each lost to the flow of their own thoughts, and even though they both felt the need for explanation of this unexpected summoning, they mutually respected the silence which was preserved for mainly one reason: not knowing what their potentially exceeding curiosity could bring. Observing the sudden inexplicable hostility of the surroundings, Aireiel took note of the progressing obnoxiousness of the unfamiliar officer's presence and came to the horrifying conclusion that he was brought here for one sole purpose: to prevent and take action in case any complications should arise, especially if the excess should occur on elleth's part. Aireiel tried her best to avoid the officer's intrusive glances, but the notion haunted her nonetheless, until it was replaced by the quick nausea that befell her shortly after their arrival at the meeting hall in the heart of the mountain. And the reason for this abrupt sickness was the sight Aireiel beheld once she realised where they were located.

"Ah, at last, we are all gathered," a deep voice rejoiced when all five of them joined the rest of the group in the hall, but the experienced tension and wariness lingered in the echo.

Hearing those words, Aireiel swiftly stretched her neck in hope to catch a glimpse of a familiar figure. She found her father standing next to the slender, fair elleth who was surrounded by additional guards for a reason unknown to Aireiel. Did she and father pose any kind of threat to the Realm or was there a more specific reason for this sort of unnecessary prevention? She had a feeling the answer to her question might come her way sooner than she'd expected.

Although Legolas sensed this meeting was not convened to discuss ordinary military strategies, he was particularly suspicious of the constitution of the assembly gathered in the throne hall. An unusual amount of high-trained guards meant to protect the King from two harmless individuals, along with both the chief military commander and the First Sage probably used as an unessential counsellors to the inquiry? The Prince could feel something was amiss, though despite his deep efforts he could not determine what exactly was it. The plausible suggestions displayed in his mind, yet all appeared rather extravagant considering the circumstances. Legolas doubted his father would feel threatened by these anodyne strangers to such degree he would need to gather the entire administration to invite them to the strangers' primary hearing from which he would hopefully gain enough information to finally gather the basis for the forthcoming announcement in front of the public audience. Legolas defended and even performed the idea of extra caution at all times (or as he liked to phrase it in his own words that your heart knew you more than anyone else ever could), and wasn't ashamed to admit that most of his decisions regarding war tactics or simple leadership were based on his gut feeling that had never managed to mislead him. But in this specific case, he decided to put his possibly affected emotions and aspects aside to get a clearer view of the situation, when he, again, found himself surrounded with exactly the same thoughts.

 _No,_ the Prince concluded at last, _father is definitely up to something. It is best to leave him have his joy now and intervene if necessary later._

Right after deciding not to protest against this absurd idea of the meeting just yet, the only thing he wished to focus on was more of what his father had to say about the freshly assembled gathering.

Comfortably resting in his magnificent throne, adorned with a rich violet velvet cape, Thranduil proceeded with his introductory speech: "It is not often I have the honour to welcome in our Realm an ellon of whom I've heard has performed a great deed at the hostile fortress," he said, slightly tipping his head at the stranger next to Tauriel. "The circumstances of today's hard times are stealing the brave warriors from us, therefore a news like this coming to my ears is both a pleasant surprise as it causes awe in my mind."

With a democratic, objective voice and an excellent control over the flow of his words, the King's supposed and expected elaboration turned into nothing of the sort but merely a more twisted mind play. Those used to this kind of meandering would stand patiently, knowing everything coming from His Majesty's mouth sooner or later began to make sense, but those new to it would begin to experience maddening anxiety and impatience due to the King's unnecessarily prolonged speech. And Edenir was definitely a member of such kind. But to everyone's surprise, the King's mood suddenly changed from a cheerful, taunting curiosity sparking in his eyes to a gloomy shadow towering over his face.

"As much as I would enjoy to listen to each single detail of that unfortunate day, I'm afraid I'm compelled to concentrate on a specific time of your visit at Dol Guldur," his voice resounded. Everybody knew what was coming their way as the King's eyes hardened at the two strangers. "What brought you to the fortress in the first place?"

Even though his eyes swiftly brushed up both of Aireiel and Edenir who were standing completely still due to the coldness the King used to address them, they were a bit confused about whether the question was meant for her or Edenir. Either way, the sternness of his voice apparently worked in Thranduil's favour since he noticed the strangers responded with a twitch in their eyelids or with an unexpected muscle movement in their shoulders which obviously expressed uneasiness. The reason for their sudden agitation was the realisation that the valid and proven explanation of the events at Dol Guldur was not inevitable and utterly unavoidable as both Aireiel and Edenir had hoped they would find a way to evade it somehow. Despite the scene they were currently witnessing was vivid and realistic enough, they refused to believe this should be the end of the lives they knew it, the end of their safety, and the beginning of the chase they had long ago escaped. The truth shall surface one day, of that they were both sure, but today was not that day. They rejected the idea of falling so easily, giving up everything they'd worked so hard for in a matter of minutes. It seemed absurd and reprehensible to degrade their efforts in such outrageous way. As an affirmative answer to these notions, Edenir decided to speak both for him and Aireiel since, after all, he did have the advantage of the chance to brag about his experiences in this department.

"Your Majesty, we are humbly grateful for your kind hospitality and solidarity which the war has considerably lessened in our lands," Edenir spoke. "I would like to expose that we bring no harm along with us, that our allegiance lies with no one but to each other, and that our minds are uncorrupted by the hand of the Shadow. Our visit at the ruin was out of pure curiosity and the product of our careless excursion from our ordinary path which towards nightfall we embark on daily to reach our humble abode. Our location is at the South and West of Mirkwood, far away from this hostile territory. My only defence is that my iell and myself happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Thranduil felt extreme vexation stirring up within him, although he could not really justify it. In a way he was not entirely pleased with the answer when at the same time he could not contradict it. It was not convenient for a King to find himself in such compromising position. Something in his conscience screamed of irregularity and doubt regarding the ellon's statement, however he found himself short of arguments he could use against him. And he was aware everyone in the hall expected him to do so. Instead, he decided to carry on with his usual tactic that sooner or later helped him with getting the desired information from the interrogated.

"This much is clear to us, yes. Your timing was most unfortunate indeed. However," he emphasized and then narrowed his eyes at Edenir, "I do find it most interesting how a fine example of the highest elvish blacksmith craftsmanship ended up lying next to you when my guards found you. How would you wish to explain that?"

Edenir felt a demanding urge rising in his bones to turn his head to his daughter, but he was aware of the possible risk he was taking and the consequences such action would trigger. Since many currently present during the hearing wished him harm and hoped for the King to find him guilty of whatever crime they could come up with, he feared his actions could be misinterpreted. And the last thing he wanted right now were more complications they'd already faced. Without even throwing a glance towards Aireiel, he could sense her edginess, and could only pray the Prince beside her either didn't or ignored it. The mere mention of the weapon agitated both of them and as the time passed, a decision had to be made.

"I am not responsible for what happened during the time when my conscience was feeble and vulnerable due to the attack we'd underwent. I do realise this is considered a crucial piece of evidence to which I hold no personal value, and I can assure you it means nothing to me."

"Oh, right," Thranduil replied lightly, "so you wouldn't mind if we destroy the thing? You see, with all the benefits of modern magic in today's world you never know where the Shadow might hide its nefarious spies. I would prefer not to take that risk."

A large lump appeared in Edenir's throat as he carefully followed the King's words. He couldn't deny the panic increasing inside, screaming for prevention of the execution of such deed. He knew if he should do nothing thousands of years of history would be erased, and the beginning of Edenir's nightmare would commence. The nightmare of fading into endless pit of oblivion.

But something most unexpected interrupted his oppressing thoughts as he was on the verge of surrender.

Edenir followed the movements of a tall, slim figure approaching Thranduil's throne. He figured the person must have tight relations to the King since not a single guard made a move to stop him as they normally would if the person wouldn't be of such importance like in this case. When the elf approached the King on a safe distance from where an attempted whisper would remain only as such, he invited the ruler to lean towards him. Several moments of awkward silence passed as the two exchanged a few words most likely related to the subject of the mysterious weapon. Edenir did not even dare speculate the nature of their conversation since the expressions on both of their faces remained cold, callous, and stark, and could indicate and confirm whatever Edenir chose to believe it to be the truth. From the moment he stepped into this palace he kept repeating to himself never to trust these people for their lives were based on wearing false masks. He kept reminding himself what heartless people led this Realm and left them to their own pitiful destinies in the time of need. Those are the grudges Edenir never could and never wished to push behind him, and throughout the years it had become a bigger part of him. Hatred and contempt had filled the dark void in his soul where love, kindness, and compassion resided back in the days of where his heart was still whole and complete.

The gesture of Thranduil's pale hand indicated his wish of the person's removal from his sight, and the slightly irritated person obliged. As the elf situated back to his original position, Edenir observed Thranduil's facial movements and he could notice the newly formed curve on the King's forehead which Edenir read as deep worry and frustration, but then again – he was both so familiar and new to this extravagant persona that this notion could still mean nothing. This was, after all, the great King Thranduil he was observing, and Thranduil hardly had a rival who could compete with him in this department.

"Fortune has smiled upon thee," Thranduil announced with a completely new expression over his face. "There has been a slight misunderstanding about the weaponry and its whereabouts, to which we shall return in the near future since it is currently not determined as paramount priority. For the time being you are to stay within the palace walls, unless, of course, that should present too much of an inconvenience for both of you. For now, I would like to invite you to the dining halls to join me in a humble feast before the public hearing."

The two captives couldn't decide what was more shocking in that single statement: the sudden change in the King's mood which was, despite his frequent unpredictability, truly unexpected, the most peculiar and inexplicable invitation to dine with His Majesty himself or the mention of some sort of hearing in front of a public audience. All of these things combined in a truly bizarre sentence put Aireiel and Edenir on the edge of their patience and composure or at least what was left of it. Was this yet again one of the King's twisted schemes? Some sort of trick to get them to speak? And what was that secret consultation all about?

Suddenly, Aireiel felt a warm presence near her. As quiet and still as the spring in the high mountain peaks, Legolas glided to her side with a grace and allure only he possessed.

"I advice you to agree to his terms," the Prince whispered.

"What is going on, Legolas?" she asked confused, deliberately using his name to provoke the soft side of him in hope to receive a bit detailed elucidation regarding the King's recent demands.

"For now, it is best to simply trust me when I say he does not intend to summon his best assassin to remove you for he has eliminated the idea of you presenting a tangible threat to either him or the Realm," was his quick response that, strangely so, managed to soothe even Aireiel's deepest worries.

"Are you saying we are beginning to gain his trust at last?"

"I don't believe father has trusted anyone in his life except his instinct. But you are growing on him," he spoke without looking to her; his glance was fixed on Thranduil who was observing Edenir with extreme attention. "However, I can see he was not so convinced with your father. You overcame his doubts long before your father, and with the gesture of inviting you to dine with him he is merely aiming to either confirm his previous theories of him or abandon them. But before he could be free to do that, your father must agree to the terms."

Aireiel stood frozen in her position as her eyes slowly turned to her father on her far left. His eyes had unspoken fear written all over them, but somehow he managed to maintain his everlasting elegance and equanimity when faced with the majestic leader. His shoulders were pushed back and his posture revealed that in the end he feared nothing for he had nothing to lose.

"I will gladly accept your most generous offer," he spoke and Aireiel visibly relieved from the tension that had been eating her for these past few moments.

Aireiel now turned to face Legolas, ignorant of the comments and remarks that would trigger. "Where are we going?"

"You'll be safe, Aireiel," he promised. "I shall meet you right here after you are finished."

"Meet me for what?"

A short pause followed before Legolas spoke: "To seal the Realm's destiny."


	9. Chapter 9

**I would first wish to thank everyone who took the time to read my story and continue to follow it, especially those who posted their kind reviews. Your feedback and response to my work encourage me to write further as well as spark my imagination that ultimately enables me to come up with all the plots and schemes we've already encountered so far and the ones that are yet to come!**

 **I hope you all enjoy this intense chapter!**

* * *

Chapter 9

There were rare moments in life, Aireiel had discovered, when you were put into the merciless hands of nature, forced to comply to whatever form of salvation came your way, even if it meant to humiliate and humble yourself to the level you'd never expect of yourself to reach. While walking the main stairway of the underground palace, surrounded by the magnificent examples of brilliant Elvish architecture that boasted at each side, Aireiel realised this very situation was one of those moments. It felt wrong and it definitely was beneath them both, yet she was aware they had to do this for there wasn't much choice for them. Hypnotized by the sound of her light feet hitting the stone stairway she heard her father's words. And those were the words that motivated her to push her foot one step further.

 _Never give in and always adapt. Make compromises, even if they seem contentious and irrational at the moment. Provide shelter, regardless of the conditions. And by all means, survive._

Apprehension and anxiousness settled deeper in her bones as they entered the dining hall through enormous gates that were opened with amazing force and grace by the elven guards. Even though they were trained to look expressionless and monotonous at all times, the looks in their eyes exposed bewilderment and lucid curiosity as they let them through the heavy entrance. They all bowed their heads when the King made his way through the path, and Aireiel noticed they kept them low the entire time he and his guests passed through. It was both a pleasant surprise and a shock to witness such a gesture since Aireiel did not have a valid explanation for it. Was the gesture in the name of courtesy and consideration or was it because they knew what fate awaited them? The elleth's head was filled with dark thoughts and she decided to deprive them of her attention for the time being, at least until the situation would turn out to be more hostile and unpredictable than the two of them had expected.

It was the greatest, most exquisite and splendidly decorated halls she'd ever entered in her lifetime. The ceiling, supported by magnificent pillars of intricate wood embellishments, was high and wide enough to squeeze an admirable number of giants inside, the walls, which were of valuable stone, were natural and raw, but sophisticated in their own manner. Everywhere Aireiel would look she'd be met by a string of either beautiful carved decorations made by the skilful hands of the elven maids or the artwork created by the nature herself. She loved the way the contemporary technique flew in perfect balance with the traditional, conventional style of architecture that prevailed in the hall. Not long after she'd made a few steps further into the heart of the vast hall, her nostrils were filled with a fresh, rich aroma of local herbs, spices, and various other indispensable ingredients in the elvish cuisine. Suddenly their host turned to them in a single swift turn of his cape and a splash of platinum blonde hair waved in front of their eyes.

"Please," his hand flew to the tables on their left, "make yourselves comfortable."

He then passed them with his daunting figure to glide to the other side of the stunning piece of furniture where he elegantly sat on his appointed chair. From there he was able to safely observe and control each and every movement displaying right in front of him. When a few tense seconds of silence passed, the two realised it would be rather smart to obey the King's wish and positioned themselves on Thranduil's right. In an instant, a flood of servants and maids came down the path, rushing around the table to supply the guests with the best delicate dishes of most refined tastes of this Realm while still aiming to look peaceful, graceful, and sophisticated which was close to impossible to achieve in His Majesty's presence.

"Have you ever tasted a fruit as succulent in your life?" the King inquired as he took one of the enormous violet berries in his large hands.

"I'm afraid I haven't, Your Majesty," Edenir replied with most authentic feigned kind voice he could manage at that moment without grabbing the basket full of summer berries and throwing it directly in the host's face.

"Well, you are exploiting a rather rare privilege, then, mellon," Thranduil smiled as he took one of the rich fruits to his lips.

Edenir observed him with a look full of despise and repulsion reflecting in his green eyes. Despite this creature's title and claim, Edenir could never see him as one worthy of such honour. He could never understand the reason behind his enormous popularity, although he was familiar with the several leaders' tactics he had met in his time. It would not be a surprise to learn he had gained the public's affection by disgraceful manipulation and word play. In the end, all succumb to the power of greed. Sadly so, Edenir highly doubted Thranduil was still one of those that remained uncorrupted who led their dominion simply by the purity and good intentions of their hearts.

"This hall is without doubt one of the greatest works of architecture my ancient eyes have ever seen," Edenir spoke, driven only by the motivation to lighten up the dull conversation.

"Oh, indeed it is. I am most grateful for your kind words. It has been the main hall from the beginning of my father's reign," he explained. "I fervently hope your fair iell agrees to our words," he prompted as he turned his cold eyes to Aireiel, obviously enchanted by the magnificence of the very hall the conversation was about.

As if awoken by a mighty force, Aireiel shook her head unexpectedly and uncontrollably which enabled her to fully concentrate on the current subject. Turning her pale face to the King, along with her auburn curls, she wisely replied with a slight gesture of her lithe hand: "I most certainly do, my Lord. In fact, I was so captivated by its beauty and artistry I did not realise you were awaiting my reply."

Thranduil was obviously more than satisfied and amused with her answer as he reached for another handful of the delicious snack. With disgust, Edenir discovered he even let out a silent chuckle. Thranduil's polished, high cheekbones were reflecting in a soft light as their definite and refined shape curved his features. Aireiel observed the mighty leader with great anticipation and admiration, even though deep down she was aware of her father's disapproval. Inborn hatred screamed against the strong will for staring at his ethereal face, but something pulled her closer and closer to him, as if a familiar voice called from behind that placid mask of his. Almost as mellow as a lament, as tragically poetic as a ballad of Beren and Lúthien, and as enchanting as if it were sung by a maiden with the most melodic voice, Aireiel was completely taken aback by the aura surrounding the King. Somewhere half through her hypnotized state she had probably sensed her staring was becoming slightly out of hand, crossing all known limits of formality, but the fact was she did not care. It was as if her soul was being possessed by an invisible spirit all over again. Only when her father had repeated her name three times in a row she became aware of her position which was her head being leaned far towards her left to the King as if she was amazingly engrossed in his storytelling, her hands lay carelessly and indecorously on the wooden table along with her elbows, and her mouth was even slightly parted which made Edenir rather embarrassed of his own daughter after a truly long time.

"Are you even present?" he whispered to her side, wishing the King would give them enough privacy to solve this without unnecessary complications.

Befuddled by the sudden sharp clarity in front of her eyes and her mind, Aireiel removed her hands from the table and fixed her lazy position she had found herself in. It was hard to discern who was more embarrassed of themselves in that specific moment. While the King was being oblivious to the recent indecency by enjoying the healthy snack, Edenir was far more than displeased with Aireiel's behaviour.

"How many times am I going to have to remind you that we are in the presence of one of the most influential leaders in the whole of Middle Earth?" he hissed. "And is it truly necessary to add each time what sort of behaviour is suitable and appropriate in these circumstances?"

"Goheno nin, ada," she replied humbly. "I have acted irrational." **(Forgive me, father.)**

Edenir merely nodded in approval as he once again turned his gaze towards His Majesty. Aireiel could not understand the sudden hysteria and frenzy over a person he did not even like or respect. In fact, it was _his_ behaviour that was quite peculiar considering his usual indifferent, calm, and collected nature. Perhaps it was truly the influence and the simple feeling of the place that made him believe this ellon was more than he could ever be. As a principle her father frequently enjoyed to refer to said: a true great man has not gained his reputation by being known after his title or words – it was the deeds and the love for his people that made him richer than the whole of royal treasuries of Middle Earth combined.

"Tell me," Thranduil inquired after he had cleared his throat. "How on earth did you manage to end up on that side of the forest? It simply fascinates me since you've provided us with the information of the location of your abode, and it does seem to be quite far from Dol Guldur."

Since the moment he invited the two of them to join him to keep him company in the brief meal, Edenir suspected this occasion to be merely a disguise for a bigger plot. With an ellon such as Thranduil you always had to bear in mind all possibilities, consider every potential scenario, and doubt each word that left his mouth.

"As I've clearly stated before, our daily routine does not include wandering about the obviously afflicted areas," Edenir responded sarcastically. "It was due to an unfortunate twist of events that the usually strictly formed route led us to that destination. We were no less confused or shocked by what happened to us there than you are, if not more, in my opinion."

"I understand," the King agreed, "it must have been very difficult for you to comprehend what has happened and what sort of environment you've entered, especially one that had been declared extremely dangerous by the regional authorities. I hope you don't mind me asking what route are you referring to?"

"We usually take up the West route, near the Old Forest Road since we prefer to stick to the guided path without bypasses that might lead into one of many dead ends of this bewitched forest, precisely for the reason of unexpected consequences."

"Bewitched it is indeed," Thranduil confirmed as he deepened into the tangled web of his scattered thoughts.

It was his restless, endless ability, stuck in the pits of his conscience that urged him to mull over the recently uttered words. The same ability made it much easier for him to connect two significant things; one he had been dwelling on for several days and the other he had just recently discovered – Thranduil came to a conclusion that the mention of the West route being used by these two only a few hours after Legolas had been found at the exact location the ellon had mentioned could not have been a pure coincidence. Out of everyone, Thranduil was the most passionate opponent of leaving things to something as pathetic and uncertain as faith. Centuries of experience of being misled, deceived or betrayed on faith's behalf had moulded him into the person he was today, and he was more than glad to admit he was proud of the idea his image provoked. If he had learned anything valuable from the merciless and ruthless years of his reign was to question each and every thing for true meaning usually hid beneath the obvious. And throughout those years he had accustomed to always look underneath.

He flicked his eyes to the elleth currently reaching for another piece of the traditional lembas bread which she had been devouring with her eyes for quite some time. While at first sight she seemed to radiate with an innocent, charming energy, there was also a dark spark hidden somewhere within her. He was still deciding whether she had acknowledged it yet or had begun to notice it, but he was positive it had been affecting her in some way already, if not for some time now. It showed in her stoop posture, the insecure expression she seemed to wear at all times (despite her best efforts to replace it with feigned bravado), and the invisible force ailing her from within that peaked through the holes of her ratty shield she had surrounded herself with. Perhaps he was diving too deep into the analysis of this strange pair, yet he could not put a finger on what bothered him about them, and he was certain his soul would not rest until he found the reason for his inner turmoil.

Encountering a most interesting sight of the King leaning his chin on the pillow of his silk-soft palms, Edenir curiously gazing at the glimmering feast in front of his eyes and wondering if poison had been secretly inserted in separate dishes, and Aireiel devoting all of her attention to one of the elven specialities boasting between her fingers, a servant raced into the hall where the three had settled in to find His Majesty and his (apparently not greatly entertained) company folded in complete silence. It was rather difficult for him to interrupt such graceful scene, yet he was told very specifically and clearly to say exactly what he had been instructed to, regardless of the state he would find the King in.

"Your Majesty," he began with hands locked behind his waist, "the Sages have gathered and summoned the public. The moment when the truth shall be revealed to the people has arrived. They most ardently demand the truth, and yours is the right to give it to them."

At the end of that beautifully composed sentence the servant's mouth had turned a dangerously light shade of grey and seemed to tremble as if he was experiencing a severe cold. But it was nothing more than a mere fright and terror of seeing the King in all his might in person for the first time which was truly a shocking experience for everyone who had gone through it.

Thranduil calml,y as if recently awoken from a pleasant daydream, turned his head towards the shaking ellon whose state, under the King's inspecting gaze, only worsened. "Of course. I shall come immediately." With that the ellon was finally dismissed and released of his assignment which had probably been the ultimate test of his courage, loyalty, and patience.

The tall ellon rose from his padded chair, slid it back to its position, and wrapped himself with his glamorous velvet cape. His expression was irritatingly unreadable – an expertise he excelled at – so Aireiel and Edenir were left only to their best guesses of what could possible go on in his head. However, the only thing they were able to read or perhaps the only thing Thranduil had let to reveal was that something great was about to unveil and that he was a part of that great responsibility or maybe even the one carrying it. But once he turned his icy eyes in their direction their previous numerous guesses were limited to only one: he was obviously in anticipation of something, and his uncomfortable, impatient posture indicated that the thing he was anticipating was, in fact, supposed to be delivered from _them._ When the stern, expecting gaze didn't seem to awoke the effect Thranduil had hoped for, he was annoyed to had been forced to articulate his need.

"The conclusion of the verdict is not going to happen without you," he elaborated, but the fact was that sentence only further confused the befuddled elves sitting behind the table, not knowing what was ahead of them.

"Why is that?" Edenir inquired, his confusion despised by Thranduil who at the moment wondered and pondered how on earth these two managed to survive all on their own for as long as they had. Their incredible luck was most admirable and astounding.

"For you are the key witnesses, of course," was the King's reply who would not humiliate himself any further to wait for another idiotic question where he would be forced to repeat himself yet again since he had already exited the hall with swift, gracefully steps.

The shock in both of their eyes had said enough for them to acknowledge what sort of tangled, twisted turn of events they had been dragged into. Without their knowledge or even consent something had been made up for them. A role for them to play in front of hundreds of fervently anticipating people they did not even know. What did they owe them? What had they committed that was so seriously unforgivable that had earned them another detention at this horrible location? They were aware the answers to these questions weren't going to create themselves, especially not here, in this deserted hall where no one could even share a word of advice with them, devote them a kind word or a glimpse of compassion. What Aireiel had realised was that she needed to see the Prince immediately for the events had led to such outrageous misunderstanding that he or someone in power needed to sort it out this instant. And the only way she could find a person capable of such action was towards the direction the King had fled to.

Dragging her reluctant father behind her, Aireiel hurried through the dining hall's gates and followed the route the King had chosen. Noting the bowed heads of the guards securing the passages and corridors, Aireiel quickly deciphered she was on the right path since she figured their gesture was meant for their leader passing through not long ago. It was not curiosity or excitement that drove her with such speed to where the verdict shall be concluded; it was the taste of fear and uncertainty of their fates that provided her with the energy that enabled her to practically flow through the hallways.

While she rushed to find the Prince in belief that was where their happy endings were, Edenir couldn't stop wondering at her continuous will and determination after all that she had endured. Ever since she was born he was aware that she was one of a kind; a restless, passionate, untamed soul. But after all the horrors she had seen one would expect to see drastic changes to her character. Anyone witnessing so much tragedy, evil, and hardship throughout their lives would fall victim to transforming into a person unrecognisable in comparison to the previous. Life changed you into a person you'd promised yourself you would never become, Edenir of all people knew that best and most. But what seemed to have left him absolutely speechless each time he would gaze at his daughter was how much she had grown and how much she had sacrificed in order for them to survive. She was forced to let a part of her die, to erase the loving memories of her family in order to move on wholly and fully, to adjust to a life she never asked for. Moments of that repetitive realisation was what sparked the thought in him that she was truly a remarkable being. A being that was made to stand out, to be adored and esteemed. In that moment Edenir knew that regardless of the situation they shall be thrown into, he would stand by her forever. However, in this case, forever was meant not as a polite, comforting and reassuring metaphor but as sincerely and seriously as one could mean it.

Not long after the wild and aimless wandering around the mysterious hallways of the underground palace had commenced, the two, breathless and perspired, found themselves at the entrance to a vast antechamber which was, surprisingly so, deprived of any trace of any form of audience. Aireiel's eyebrows narrowed to the strange discovery, when a guard on their far left let out a cough that was a sign of indirect communication; a language Edenir and Aireiel were both very familiar with. They heeded the guard's generous sign and turned to the direction of the guard's cough as his neck curved to the gates at the end of the hallway he was guarding. The pair instantly moved, rushed pass the guard, but just before they reached the hook of the gates, Aireiel formed a quick sign of appreciation and gratitude to the kind guard which, despite the elaborate and completely covered required guise he was wearing, did not go unnoticed. After Edenir and Aireiel had given themselves a moment for a brief respite and a quick reflection of the upcoming events, they entered the hall with probably a bit excessive confidence considering their current reputation in the Realm (which, of course, they could not have known).

The moment they set foot in the Hall of Justice, all wondering, marvelling eyes were suddenly locked on them. Despite the earlier announcement of the presence of the two strangers at the hearing, the crowd's response couldn't have been predicted in any way. The truth was no matter how much you'd prepared for a situation you knew was coming, you could never truly know what to expect. And the sight of that day's gathered hungry crowd was a perfect example of that principle, especially proving the fact that a large mass of people was most difficult to control and lead.

Mild chaos and disorder prevailed in the Hall, but not for much longer for soon another figure would make an appearance in front of the public – a figure that would bring justification and explanation to all of the recent mystifying incidents that had been confusing the people of Woodland Realm for too long.  
Thranduil elegantly as always glided to the peak of the dais that was usually exploited for dignified occupancy which in today's occasion was not. Today was the occasion when the King would deliver a news of most upsetting nature to his people; the occasion when the lives of the inhabitants of the Realm shall change forever. Yet regardless of the cruelty and poignancy of the deed he was assigned to perform, Thranduil was aware of the consequences he would have to bear on his own shoulders in case the necessary action should not be delivered timely and appropriately. It was a matter of fact that he and he alone was the only one capable of carrying it out for no one bore the very courage or audacity that made Thranduil such outstanding, exceptional leader as he was. He indeed was aware of what he owed to the people, and in this rare occasion he was forced to put behind the beloved image of himself that had been widely accepted by the public, step out of his skin, and do his duty for which he had been chosen by the Gods.

The fleeting tumult was smothered by a gentle movement of Thranduil's hands, and as it lowered towards the people, the noise would follow the movement, gradually growing into complete silence. Suddenly, the entire Hall was focused on the ruler, and patiently awaited his address to his kinsmen while Aireiel and Edenir were secretly escorted by one of the Sages to join them behind the platform upon which Thranduil shone in all his renowned glory.

"My dear fellow gwanur," he began, ignoring the two moving figures behind him. "Dark, spiting times have befallen our lands. Ever since our Realm was shaken up by the news of the tragic passing of our dear member, we've been experiencing horrible consequences such as insecurity, instability, and vulnerability. In times as this it is our responsibility to unite and join our powers in order to maintain our home a worthy, unwavering dominion.  
As it is my duty to partake in this alliance and lead it, a most ungrateful burden falls upon me as well, but at the same time a burden I feel compelled to share with you as your equal. For the past week you have faced unimaginable terror of being left in the dark without any knowledge of the circumstances of the ellon's death, and I assure you – it was solely for the purpose of preventing any unnecessary misunderstandings and spread of unwanted information. But now, without any further confusion to the matter, we can, based on the protracted and thorough examinations, confirm that Maerrond, a loyal member of the Council, was brutally murdered by the hand of the Shadow." **(Gwanur = kinsmen)**

It would be a severe and unfair misinterpretation to describe the crowd's reaction as simple mayhem. For the that would be far from the truth. It was anarchy. Not uncomfortable sighs or impatient screams or disgruntled moans filled the air, not a gracious gesture of the hand that would meet the disturbed chest filled the crowd. Uncontrollable movements flew around the place, and not words of comfort, but bitter tears and profanity echoed in the Hall. All Thranduil could do was helplessly observe his people as they writhed in pain and follow the wave of emotion that had swallowed them. He could, in a way, say he had predicted this sort of outcome, but nothing could prepare him for the amount of grief and anxiety he was feeling in that moment. Surrounded by swirl of crawling figures, he was consumed by the guilt he had begun to sense. His reason told him he had done the right thing by informing his subjects of the possible fate the Realm was facing instead of feeding them with false hope, yet despite deepest efforts he could not get rid of this infuriating thought that with doing so in the name of common good, he had inadvertently destroyed that bit of cheerfulness in the eyes of his people. That now, when their souls were burdened with such dreadful and terrifying theory of the Realm being exposed to evil, no sign of hope or good spirits shall reside behind the great walls of the palace ever again. After the thought had already settled in his mind, images and visions of his people succumbing to the intriguing pain of sorrow had flashed before his wide opened eyes. Visions of the last thing he would ever want to befall his kingdom – absolute desperation and the loss of faith in the Gods.

As the situation was slowly growing out of control, the First Sage pushed his way through behind the front row of the upset Sages, roaming the lowered platform behind the dais where the King was standing still in his position. As much as he hated intervening in barely governable situations such as this, his formal position and rank ordered him to do something about the commotion engulfing the occupied space. Calaron's swift steps enabled him to quickly find himself standing side by side with the King himself as the latter stared at the whimpering crowd.

"Le na man, nin hir?" Calaron spoke when he reached Thranduil's side. **(Are you alright, my Lord?)**

At first, all he got in reply was a suppressed, muffled whine which Calaron read as the sign of Thranduil's initial response to the activity below him, but then the King had begun to form a reply that was expected of a person of his rank and that was in the least considerate of Calaron.

"I wonder," he spoke sadly with his deep voice his eyes still focused on the crowd, "if perhaps it were best for them to be spared of the knowledge of the great misfortune which has befallen us. Perhaps that way they would retain their faith and trust that I have now crushed. Is there any hope left for them, for us? Is there a way to mend their broken hearts into willing, obedient believers that would be prepared for whatever is upon us?"

Although it seemed more as a confession of a rueful leader who had come to admit his errors, Calaron realised what he was witnessing was an unravelling of a person of most complex mind, and the best thing he could do at the moment was listen to his superior who, in Calaron's eyes, had never seemed less royal and celestial as in this vulnerable moment, but more raw and uncovered than he had ever seen him before.

"The nation has never doubted in Your Majesty's abilities to save the Realm in previous crises. Trust me, such deeds hardly go forgotten. I highly doubt the critical situation we are facing today shall be an exception."

"I am grateful for your honest words, Calaron," Thranduil lowered his head for a quick moment to show appreciation as his eyes were still scanning the Hall, "but I fear the golden years of my reign have passed. How shall I find strength not only to reign but to rule?"

The First Sage knew this to be a trick question, though he seriously doubted there was a hidden meaning to it which was common and to be expected when conversing with the King under normal circumstances. However, it still bugged him to see his King filled with such deleterious thoughts. Calaron ended up asking himself if perhaps there was any sense to Thranduil's words and if maybe the Gods had decided to put him in a trial period with this threat of evil. And what if he should fail? Who could ever replace a monarch as devoted and unyielding as him? The answer to this question would open a subject of most sensitive and dangerous nature. A subject undoubtedly reserved for another time.

"My King," Calaron began, "perhaps you have made a mistake of seeking a friend or an adviser in me. Then again, with great certainty and assurance, I can claim to be an indispensable part of this Realm, therefore I nurture great love for its people. I have seen the many rises and falls of our Realm, yet not once in those critical times have you failed to supply the nation with comfort, morale, and fortitude they've been receiving from their King ever since he's been assigned to take up on a role not many are up to. It is often expected of a ruler to produce and provide miracles at all times; Gods' forbid if he should ever reveal but a piece of his true self for that is considered a great weakness amongst his rivals, hungry for even a tiniest miscalculation. After all, great kings are the descendants of the Gods, and with such power comes great burden. A burden not many can acknowledge, let alone tolerate and carry instead of their folk. With great admiration and willingness I am bound to ensure you that I cannot imagine a leader more suitable to guide us through these dark times. And I am fairly positive your people share the same idea."

Not in thousand years would Calaron expect himself to ever utter such words of consolation to his King as he just had, yet it was partially his duty to relieve his superior of unnecessary doubts that might obstruct him in his path to achieve greatness. It was a very shocking surprise to had witness the King choosing Calaron as his confidant for the Sage was absolutely sure this was a rare scene if not one he shall never come across again. While the common folk usually had the habit of declaring their rulers as more or less demigods, the ruler's counsellors, entourage, and members of the small circle of King's preferred audience had a different image of him. They still saw him as the divine creature he was, but there was a bitter taste to the concept of the King being almighty and impeccable. In fact, partaking at the discussions of the great decisions enabled those selected groups to be exposed to a certain version of the King which would never leak to the public. There they were able to observe their ruler up close and intimately to the degree where they would eventually come to the conclusion that their King was in fact far from faultless. But still, that perspective did not diminish nor lessen their affection towards Thranduil in any way. Actually, it might as well made him more popular amongst the members of the preferred audience since they finally felt they could identify themselves with him and that made them realise that, in the end, they were all equal. That he also had not been excluded from being allotted an ample of worries of a regular elf by the hand of the Gods with the notable difference of him having to hide those worries and also having to rule – a duty everyone admired and subconsciously desired yet feared and ultimately rejected.

"You honour me, Calaron. Your wisdom is truly remarkable, and I deeply apologize if it was at times undervalued or unappreciated," he finally turned to him and then lowered his gaze again as if the crown upon his silk hair suddenly contained the entire sorrow of the Hall which was not far from the truth. "Perhaps it shall succeed to soothe the crowd as well for I believe they have grown tired of my appearance."

"Fear not, my Lord," the Sage assured him, "whereas sometimes my service indeed seems redundant, my commitment and alliance shall lie with you until my dying day."

Offering a tired, pale smile, but just before Thranduil was about to retire from the exposed position and hide in the shadows behind the dais where now Calaron proudly stood, he turned to the Sage one last time and ordered: "Bring the father to the chamber after you've finished."

Thranduil was just about to make the first step down towards the end of the dais, when he suddenly stopped in his position and looked up to Calaron.

"Where is my son hiding?" he asked tiredly.

"I believe he is at the armoury with the head assistant of the guard inspecting the latest arrival of the stock."

Thranduil merely hummed something in return and focused on his previous errand. It was urgent he spoke with Legolas as soon as possible for he could no longer bore all the burden by himself. Besides, he believed it was fair enough he at least confided in his son of his newest discovery.

Confused but trusting the King must have had his reasons for the previous peculiar demand, he nodded, showed the King the way down the dais, and then returned to his position where he welcomed the crowd again.

"Sídh vi i thammas!" Calaron's voice spread far across the Hall to quell the progressing noise. **(Order in the Hall!)**

Not long after a few additional repeats of the request the crowd did manage to settle down. Curious stares and whispers of wonder were directed towards the Sage who stood above them with his hands spread to his people like wings of a bird against the wind. They rarely ever had the opportunity to see any members of the Council in person, so this was quite a sight for their eyes and Calaron was aware of it.

"Sadly, it has fallen upon my shoulders to inform you that the King has chosen to retire to his chambers. As chaos and bedlam take over the Hall, I feel the need to elaborate and present this devious matter to you in a way you shall all understand the circumstances and consequences of the tragedy," he addressed the nation.

"How shall you explain the threat our children are facing?" a voice shouted then.

"How can you speak of securing our safety when the Shadow has obviously invaded our lands without any difficulty of being noticed?" said another.

The pressure Calaron was now beginning to sense instead of the King was cutting like the sharpest knife through his brain. It grazed at his skull and tore his flesh while he tried to maintain a dignified, confident posture. All was in vain. His shoulders crushed under the weight of the head, his arms flew to his side, and his back wasn't as straight and strong anymore. Suddenly, the previous image of a capable, vigorous warrior and politician had vanished, replaced by a repulsive vision of a grouchy, venerable man whose efforts had fallen on deaf ears.

 _I fear the golden years of my reign have passed._

Thranduil's words ringed in his ears like a silent, creeping warning to his conscience that the end might be nearer than he'd imagined after all. Even though that notion scared him to the bones he had not succumbed to its dooming sorcery; he pushed aside all doubts, straightened his posture, and looked upon the crowd. It was in this moment when they needed someone who had to show them the Realm could and _shall_ stand against the spreading evil. They needed a protector who would pour such unrelenting faith in them that it should not wither under even most drastic circumstances. Calaron saw the opportunity and he seized it.

"The news of the aggressive evil expanding within our borders has truly shocked us all. It would be cruel and unfair to claim it had not taken us by surprise. A threat like this can be fatal for a single person, helpless and alone. But we are a nation," Calaron encouraged intensely. "And nations do not fall that easily. Especially a great nation like ours. In those times it is our honourable duty and obligation to stand together to fight for the welfare of our community which shall continue to endure, regardless of the challenges it might face."

First, there was plain, strident silence filled with expectation. The elves turned around to look at the fellow bystanders and assess their reaction which was, surprisingly, shared by the whole crowd. They blankly gaped at the Sage, both inspired and startled by his uplifting words, not able to properly organize their thoughts and compose an opinion on the matter due to their current inert, turbulent state. But it took nothing more than a soft sigh of relief and two slow claps that later turned into a progressive wave of applause flooding the Hall to put the crowd as well as the speaker into entirely different mood. Instantly, the crowd, consisting of elves of both higher and lower status, began to fill the Hall with pleasant atmosphere of loud, frantic chatter of the future, continuous gentle clapping, and bright expressions on their faces which lightened Calaron's pessimistic heart. The Sage deferentially wondered at what a bit of encouragement and sanguinity meant to the people. He was amazed by the effect the power of word play had on the crowd and how they immediately started to regain their almost mislaid ability to maintain their faith for the leaders of this country.

As much as Calaron was thrilled and pleased to receive a good response from the people, he could not simply dismiss the duty that still burdened his shoulders. Although they had already been shaken up by the conclusion of the tragedy that had occurred in the palace more than a week past, there was much more people had to be ready to absorb. Just as Calaron, the entire line of Sages agreed to the fact the crowd had taken the news much better than predicted. But all also silently admitted one thing: the worse was yet to come.

The First Sage raised his arms back into the air towards the ceiling of the dome to silence the noise that had initiated. With narrowed eyes he scanned the public, before he uttered the reason for his interruption.

"Sadly, I have yet not told everything there is to know about this dreadful news. As was the Council mutual decision along with the King's agreement, we have decided to act immediately against the threat for time is not among things we have in abundance at the moment," he said. "What we do have is courage, determination, and motivation to protect our lands to our best abilities. When times as frightful as the ones we are experiencing now arise, we are not left with much choice in the matter. With Council's and His Majesty's full support, I am with heavy heart to declare that the Woodland Realm is from now on officially at war."

The response could never be likened with how the crowd reacted to the previous delivery of the shocking news. Where there were expressions of terror and trepidation earlier, they were replaced by perplexed and confused countenances. There were no sudden gasps releasing tension, but complete, naked silence which took Calaron by surprise for he had expected anything but silence from the public. Only now, when he was staring in their fraught faces and got lost in the depth of their desperate eyes, he realised what sort of situation the Realm had found itself in. There was truly nothing more shattering for the crowd to hear than the news of the forthcoming war. Parents feared for the irresolute destinies of their children, the commanders thought of their troops and soldiers, leaders reflected on their past deeds and how successful their reign had been so far. War was a time of insecurity, dire expectation, and strange delirium the inhabitants couldn't shake off. It was a crisis with an undecided expiration date that left everybody on edge right until the very moment. In those critical moments it was crucial for those in charge to take the appropriate measures, assure comfort and provide aid at all times, and secure their boundaries to the absolute maximum.

As the pressure and tension grew stronger, Calaron's need to escape also intensified. He could sense the looks of judgement, disbelief, and incredulity upon his body, and he did not like it at all. That was the very reason why he loathed to perform in public speeches. It was the constant reproof and accusation the public speaker was to receive after the speech that made Calaron detest this inevitable and most grating part of his duty. This occasion was no exception; the people would stare at him blankly with continuous burning disbelief, still convinced the words he had just uttered were merely a joke which they did not understand. They were waiting for him to elaborate this silly, obviously unsuccessful jest in order to continue with their lives, but what they failed to see was that the same jest was about to change the course of their lives for good.

"For now, I would kindly ask you to return to your quarters and remain calm until further information shall be brought to you," Calaron requested calmly in hope to soothe their aching gazes. Although his intention was good and pure, the effect seemed only to work inversely. The crowd stood still as if hypnotized into a state of dreaming with their vacant expressions. The words he had just uttered meant nothing to him. Nothing could have affected them more severely than what they had already received from the one person they believed in most. And once that faith was lost, it required a long time of hard work to regain it.

Not caring enough to devote one last glance to the lost people, Calaron decided to remove himself from the exposed position. Despite the fact that his profession, among other things required replacing the King in certain situations, the Sage knew when enough was enough. He himself was not entirely immune to the burden, so his body urged him to get out of there as soon as possible. But he was not leaving alone.

On his way he passed the two guests that had sat still and quietly throughout the entire time of the declaration. Even though they had already been acquainted with Calaron, they completely ignored him as he stopped at their side. They had also adopted the crowd's gazes, and as their eyes were filled with endless hollowness, Calaron at last began to feel to consequences and the weight of his recent words that it was not only the people of the Woodland Realm who would be affected by the Council's rapid decision (although it was only rapid due to the urgency of the matter), but also the regions and lands surrounding it. The announcement would spread far beyond the enchanted wood and in no time reach the ears of unwanted folk across the Middle Earth. But there was no effective solution to this collateral side effect of the necessary reform they were forced to enact. There was only hope they would not find themselves under the attack of some foreign kind who would use their vulnerability to invade their already desolated lands and further destroy what was left of their culture.

"Edenir, would you mind if we spoke in private for a moment?" Calaron invited the rapt, frozen elf.

But Edenir was unable to wake from his deep, spellbound daze. Calaron's request flew by his ears and his features did not make a single movement which would indicate acknowledgement of Calaron's invitation, let alone the Sage's presence. Only after his mental absence was coming close to incongruous, he forced himself to return to reality which was the very meaning behind his quick escape.

"Of course," Edenir hurried and jumped on his feet. Then he turned to his daughter with a serious expression which hid anxiety and worry. "Wait for me here, I shall return in no time."

Aireiel nodded in response and observed as the two elves left the dais and strolled the long, vast hallway side by side, Calaron already throwing his hands in the air. She couldn't resist wondering what was the nature of the urgent consultation Calaron had demanded, but a feeling deep down kept telling her it had very likely to do with the news the First Sage had just shared with the public. A threatening feeling was starting to rise within her that warned her about something unspeakable, intangible. Perhaps it was the congenital instinct of vigilance which lay restless in her bones that awoke possibly unnecessary alertness in her, perhaps it was a consequence of being in the unsafe environment full of untamed beasts for far two long she'd forgotten the feeling of carelessness, but she somehow she knew there was more to this shocking news than the Sage had revealed. It could be a part of the Council's clandestine agenda which was being carefully hidden from the public's prying eyes for that would most accurately explain the Sage's unknown secrecy. She was not familiar with the customs the people and the administration of the Woodland Realm abode by, therefore she was not the adequate person to judge Calaron's performance, though she was not blind either. As a result of once being a part of a larger domain run by hereditary monarchy she was conversant with how matters of sensitive nature were handled. She understood the procedure of the leaders having to obey and follow the majority's demands, however she did not remember any detail ever being hidden from the people of her previous home. The news of war arriving at the North which was delivered to the elves today was difficult to grasp on its own, and to consider what else could have hit them was painful for Aireiel to imagine. The inhabitants of the Realm had gone through enough already, but was that a justifiable reason to keep the truth from them? Did they not possess the right of being informed of the activities within the borders of the land they cherished and loved, the land they called home? Aireiel was far well familiar with that sort of inconvenience as well as what mark it left on her or – what had died inside her.

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the approach of a tall figure. She recognized the person immediately.

"Beleg Meatherion," she addressed the Lord Commander as she approved his indication to sit beside her.

"How are you feeling, hén?" he asked attentively as he observed her features. **(Hén = child)**

"I have gone through worse, my Lord," Aireiel replied bravely, continuing, "it is the people of the Realm I fear will face greater consequences."

"Indeed, news of war is never to be taken lightly and they know it. However, I am interested in your previous statement where you claimed you have gone through worse before," Meatherion implied.

Aireiel was aware of the agreement with her father, so she remained present and fully aware of the flow of her words which sometimes could be entirely misinterpreted by certain people.

"My father and I originate from lands that have been affected by the hand of the Shadow before. The sight of the burning homeland will remain in my memory forever, and it is a sight I would not wish for anyone to witness." She turned her head towards her feet and then back up again, letting out a disappointed sigh. "The constant emigration is necessary for us to escape the breath of evil, but it has claimed its price several times. Never being able to return to my homeland is one of them."

"I am most sad to hear such horrible event has marked your past. No one deserves to see their culture obliterated, let alone by the purging evil that has made its return," Lord Commander comforted.

Meatherion was devastated to see the elleth's youth being stained at such an early stage. As he was looking into her eyes with great care and gentleness, he could notice tracks of grief and pain, but no regret or excessive humility. The elleth knew exactly what she was doing by showing what she wanted the Commander to see. Revealing only a tiny bit of her crushed self, she was manipulating Meatherion's newly created image of her as the two were getting to know each other better. She believed the Commander to be genuine in his care and worry, but since she ever since was a creature barely mastering the art of running about the palaces she had been taught to speak less than she knew and have more than she showed. Once she had conquered that skill she was unbeatable and everlastingly charming, enticing, and mysterious. A skill she would nurture for eternity.

But then the flash in her eyes changed dramatically. From being a quiet elleth with a blood-stained past, she turned to a warrior willing to avenge the fall of her homeland; a warrior she always had inside of herself. The changed was also noticed by the Commander at her side.

"Precisely," she replied to Meatherion's previous remark. "The same evil that has been spreading and demolishing the lands of Middle Earth for as long as there has been light, is slowly recovering by polluting the good of this world." Aireiel looked to her empty hands before directing her gaze in Meatherion's eyes. "I want to fight. Ever since we managed to escape that hell I've been dreaming of having my revenge. And as long as I breathe I will never forget nor forgive the atrocities that befell my people and land."

"Your passion is admirable, yet I doubt you realise the dangers of your ardent drive and where it may lead," Meatherion said, both frightened and enchanted by her.

"Hopefully to battle," was her serious response.

The Lord Commander shook his head and rotated his body a bit to his left while resting his elbows on the handles of the seat. As much as the elleth was prepared to fight and help defeat the evil, he feared for her future just like her father. These worries would be shared by anyone who cared to listen to a single word she had to say of the forthcoming storm, and anyone brave enough to consider them would realise it was pure madness.

"I believe you would get along very well with the Captain of the Royal Guard," Meatherion jested to cool the tension that had gathered around them before continuing seriously. "I'm afraid I cannot consult you in the matter. Plenty of young elves state they would be prepared to give up everything in order to try themselves in a battle at least once, while they severely underestimate the value of the things they speak so frivolously of. A majority of those courageous and unlucky enough to eventually find themselves in a middle of a close combat later admit their zest and blind faith to be deceiving. I am no fool or a hypocrite – I realise without those brave volunteers we wouldn't be able to properly defend ourselves, whereas I still strongly believe half of the volunteers to be simply too young to be confronted with the pain and sacrifice of duty just yet."

They shared a long pause before Meatherion decided to make a conclusion to this discussion or at least the current subject. "War is a terrible, horrendous thing, my dear. No one should seek one if there is absolutely no need for it. What seems to push the young volunteers to join this dangerous profession are mostly the desire to prove themselves and, of course, the promise of fame and glory. But too often those courageous soldiers perish without acknowledgement somewhere far from home on a deserted field, their effort, ambition, and appetite for life they traded for death die along with them and fade to oblivion."

"But that is what it is all about," Aireiel continued with her own way. "It _is_ about sacrifice though not to let it be in vain, but to contribute to a bigger goal for greater good. War has never been about what must happen in order to achieve that goal, it is the faith to reach it and the aftermath of when we do."

"If there is anything I know about this world, dear child, is that it is cruel, merciless, unrelenting, and unforgiving which are the characteristics brought by war. I've seen far too many gory sights to be able to simply turn away from the horrors of war I've suffered. It is both painful and important to talk about it, but it is also crucial you keep a realistic view on the matter."

"I don't understand," she said. "You have become a legend for it. Has that accomplishment not encouraged you to push forward?"

"The only way it has encouraged me is to avoid war by all means."

That statement left Aireiel almost breathless. Dreams of retaliation led her on an unrealistic path of becoming the greatest heroine the world had ever seen by avenging what was dear to her and reclaim what had been violently taken away from her. But was that all there was to the ill dream or was there some hidden intention she was hoping to fulfil by fighting the Darkness? Could it be that this dream had corrupted and distorted her soul to the point where she could no longer distinguish between the wish to have her life mission completed and the thirst for unnecessary bloodshed? Or had they become the same thing? This was now beginning to torment her conscience so gravely she was not even able to recognize the creature she had turned into.

"Is it wrong if I feel such need to act against the threat we are facing?" she asked insecurely then.

"Of course not," Meatherion replied gently. "You should not think of yourself any less or more for what you hold inside."

"It is the deeds that make you a worthy, honourable person which is the only thing I thrive to be," Aireiel cried.

"It is not all that simple. It is the competence to trust your healthy judgement and act on its behalf," Meatherion corrected her.

"How am I to find that competence?" the passionate elleth inquired.

"By staying alive, child," was the answer Aireiel did not and could not approve.

But this time she remained quiet. During the time of this productive conversation she had grown extremely tired, exhausted beyond her limits. All in all she would say it was quite a prolific discussion she had with Lord Commander. In a way it was refreshing to hear a second opinion on a matter, however contradicting. It wasn't about not valuing or respecting father's outlook on the whole war thing, it was simply the tight bond that connected them, a link of emotions that inadvertently prevented Edenir from giving an equitable, unbiased opinion. Of course no father should want to see his only daughter fight in a world full of ferocious beasts and ruthless leaders supporting constant violence; that was why Edenir could never forgive himself if he should ever utter words that were not previously thoroughly calculated or had any chance of being misinterpreted.  
Meatherion understood the bond between them the moment he set his eyes on the pair, knowing they would be hard to separate, even harder to get to speak without consulting each other first. A few centuries ago he would hate to see someone as dependent and incapable as these two, unable to live a life of their own, but once he had lived through what he had it was impossible not to truly value what little of love he came by every now and then, and after hearing a bit of Aireiel's life it was obvious these two shared not only a special form of love, but a horrible experience as well which ultimately connected them more than anything else ever could.

While Aireiel had so many more questions that burdened her soul, Meatherion began to feel he had been dragging the conversation for far too long as it was. He was positive his and her presence for that matter were surely needed elsewhere. In a way he was glad he approached her which enabled him to learn a few more things about the lives of the newly arrived strangers; any knowledge he had gained from this conversation would undoubtedly be of use in the imminent discussions which shall determine the certainty of the strangers' futures.

Meatherion now flew to his feet from the chair beside Aireiel, looked around the slowly moving crowd, and concluded it was time for the guests to retreat to their private accommodations provided and arranged especially for the pair. But once he deepened into realising the brilliant idea he came up with, he discovered there was no sight of the elleth's father. The last time he checked up on him was the time Edenir was dragged outside the hallway by Calaron's hand, but Meatherion made sure they remained in sight. Now, there was no trace of either Calaron or the father. Despite his best efforts not to jump to the obvious immediately, he allowed himself the time to gaze upon the crowd beneath him one last time in hope he would notice a familiar tall figure sticking out of the common folk. But once he realised his wishes would not be granted here, he stepped from the dais with quick light steps, his breath caught in his throat. With so many things happening at once, with so many unidentified dangers lurking within the halls, he thought it only appropriate to act soon than be sorry later.

While he passed the distraught crowd of slouched Sages, he gripped Aireiel's left forearm, forcing her into his direction. The grasp was unexpected and brisk, so the reluctance in Aireiel's muscles increased when she discovered she was being pulled into unwanted direction.

"What are you doing?" she asked, baffled by Lord Commander's uncouth gesture.

"We must find your father," he replied hastily.

Aireiel, still unfamiliar with the reason for Meatherion's recent haste, reluctantly followed the Commander to the same hallway Calaron was last seen with her father. Doubt and fear lingered in the back of the elleth's mind, but she chose to denote the warning as of lesser significance since she believed she should be more alarmed by the Commander's enhanced grip.

The two roamed the halls with magnificent, endless ceilings Aireiel's eyes managed to observe in quick moments of rest Meatherion used in order to think of the most logical route Calaron would chose. Luckily, Meatherion was an expert in putting himself in someone else's shoes and think as they would think which enabled him to almost immediately return to his hasty pursuit. But what at first seemed to be mere concern for the guest's safety due to recent horrible events staining the Realm's reputation now grew into something much more vicious. His mind was filled with hollow, gruff sounds, his vision focused only on a few steps before him. It was as if something from within the heart of the palace was dragging him closer and closer to what had seemed to be the source of his current struggles. As it was painful for him to get nearer and nearer to the source it was also inexorably addictive, and that was only what drive him further to reach the destination he was heading to. Soon after, the Commander and Aireiel unwillingly dragging herself behind him would find themselves at the corner of the most unexpected hall. Since Aireiel had only acquainted herself with the residence she was not able to accurately orient herself in the unknown environment. Meatherion, however, was very familiar to all the secret and least known routes, tunnels, and passages the undefeated fortress possessed, and it was no wonder it took him by utmost surprise when he realised they were standing at the entrance to the Corridors of Prophecy. Coincidentally or not, it happened to be the same location where the murder had occurred.

"Why did we stop?" a soft voice inquired coming from behind Meatherion's side which reminded him of his intention.

As if locked on the spot, Meatherion could not move. All the disturbing noise and sharp sounds were now gathered in his head and radiating at the highest frequency possible. The screams cut his brain like razors and left him burning with physical pain as he continued to just stand there, observing the deserted corridors, completely oblivious to Aireiel's calls for urgent explanation that was definitely in order.

"Lord Commander, would you care to explain to me what is going on?"

All of the sudden, there was a movement at the end of the main corridor which Meatherion caught with the corner of his eye. A light, pale silhouette slithering behind the corners of the corridor that lead into the Hall of the Ten of Sages. A mortal with an ordinary vision adjusted to usual tricks of the light would not be able to catch a glimpse of the skulking figure that now left smoke traces behind it. Even Meatherion was at first believing it to be a mere illusion, a strange shadow produced by odd angle of the light. But as it turned out, it appeared to be more than just an illusion of the light. It was a vision of evil.

"You are not safe here," was all he was able to utter as he gripped her hand with even fiercer strength. "We have to take you to the King."


	10. Chapter 10

**With school approaching with the speed of light, I thought I ought to make this week a little bit more bearable with a new chapter of the adventures within the Woodland Realm and a bunch of new challenges awaiting the characters!**

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Chapter 10

A greater part of Edenir believed Calaron's actions to be a part of a required protocol of welcoming guests into a highly protected institution, but he could not get rid of a clinging, warning feeling that it had more to do with a reason unknown to Edenir. As if the procedure of the verdict wasn't difficult and complicated on its own, even more confusion was brought to Edenir once he was asked to leave the Hall with Calaron without any particular explanation being given to him. Ever since he had entered the palace he somehow managed to convince himself of the potential benefit Aireiel and he could gain from being under the King's protection, but the more he witnessed how things were being run here the more he doubted his previous estimation of the Realm's stable, firm condition. Perhaps he himself bore part of the guilt for being suspicious of everything that was now happening; he had been, after all, cut off a normal life ever since the day they were forced to leave their homes. With every passing day after the horrible occurrence he slowly began to forget the taste of free air of the West, the smooth touch of fresh winds blowing from the Bay of Belfalas, the sound of white doves cheering in the blossoming spring. Through the years he was forced to obliterate any trace of carelessness and freedom dwelling inside his mind which weakened his body. Yet it was the only way which ensured him survival.

As they were hurrying pass the countless corridors and passageways, Edenir was not the only one who bore the weight of doubt in his mind on this special occasion. Despite being evermore bound to the King's disposition and a devoted servant to his needs and command, Calaron was an elf laden with a right amount of reason, sanity, and wariness which altogether formed a combination of traits every successful leader should possess. That same combination was the one which prevailed in his mind today, a day that essentially provoked an unwonted extent of suspicion and hostility to rise within the palace. While somewhere deep down Calaron was aware keeping the crucial reason for dragging the guest to the wanted direction hidden from the elf did not help him earn his trust and faith, he was on the other hand convinced the reason for hiding the truth from him outweighed any argument against it. For as much as he would wish to accept the elf with his arms wide open, filled warm welcome, generosity, and patience, he simply did not have the time nor would the circumstances let him exploit such privilege that was in fact what the Realm stood for. As much as any other resident of the Woodland Realm, he would want to make the absolute best impression on any guest of at least a tinge of importance, but he realised that by forcing him to do something against his will might actually incite an opposite effect.

"We should arrive soon," Calaron soothed since his conscience ordered him to at least try to assure the guest that everything was under control.

"This would either calm me down or make me anxious if I knew what the destination was," Edenir replied without a trace of humour despite his wittily composed sentence.

Calaron could not help but feel an uncomfortable tingle burning his insides as he tried his best to avoid Edenir's reprimanding glare. He did believe that what he was doing was only in the guest's best interests for if he was actually aware of where they would going the chances of Edenir trying to escape wouldn't be so small.

Fortunately for Calaron, the pair soon arrived to one of the most intricate and remote hallways Edenir had visited during his stay. Despite being at the entirely other side of the palace, the hallway was one of the most safely guarded passages Edenir had noticed. Although he was initially completely oblivious to its concealed meaning and purpose, the elf began to recognize strangely familiar patterns and ornaments that were covering the walls of the hallway. Further as they walked, the number of masterful portraits of majestic individuals grew and Edenir's eyes kept sliding from one masterpiece to another. While under the weight of time he barely managed to preserve the memory of his own kin, he now realised he had forgotten about other kingdoms of Middle Earth as well, and how much tradition they all bore. How much grandeur, glory, and rectitude this particular kingdom could be proud of and how lucky it was to be able to uphold the memories of their forebears in such magnificent hall, dedicated only to these noble elves who built the Realm's reputation with their own bloody hands. With a bitter ache in his heart he attempted to remember what the hall of honour at their home used to look like. Yet as soon as the vague picture of his past home would appear, it would be replaced by fire and smoke which filled the halls in their lapsed residence. Acrid regret settled in his heart and he knew it was time to let go of the hurtful memories and focus on what was ahead of him. Which were a pair of large stone gates, equipped with high-skilled guards at each side. Edenir successfully deciphered this meant no good was to come.

Calaron let out an anxious sigh before making another step towards the chamber's gates. Their arrival in the chamber would mean the involvement of the two guests in the decision of the Realm's fate would be official and final. The polemics on whether or not they should be involved at all was, according to the King, futile and wasted. For far too long they had been ignoring the signs sent by the Gods to allow themselves yet another mistake of paying no attention to a possibility of saving the Realm. Thranduil was now prepared to use all means to achieve his ultimate goal without complying to compromises. That meant even the most unusual means that would come across his path.

"Let's go," Calaron prompted as he began to walk towards the gates.

Edenir confusedly followed the lead of the elf he hardly knew. Wondering if there was time to escape and search for his daughter instead was something that had crossed his mind several times since they left the Hall of Justice. But as much as he wished to contemplate further on realising this idea, he was coming to be aware of something more horrendous. Something that had sprung in his weakened mind once they passed the Holy Corridors. An eerie feeling progressed in his veins which produced feverish, silent impetuousity to stir in his tired bones. He was indefatigable and petrified at the same time, chained to the ground by his heavy heart. He started to realise he was becoming a part of something far greater than what his mind could encompass, something far beyond both him and Aireiel. They were both to play a part in something of such immense and disastrous measures Edenir was not physically able to comprehend the consequences it would leave on them as well as the entire of the Woodland Realm.

The pair hastily walked towards the gates as they were slowly being opened by the hands of the guards scanning them with their relentless eyes. Calaron bowed his head in appreciation once they had passed them, and then quickly turned to see if Edenir was still behind him. The First Sage was both regretful and gratified to see the mysterious elf hadn't fled when he was given perhaps the only chance to do so. He was also aware that if he had arrived to the meeting chamber empty handed, he would've been rightfully scolded by the King. Speaking of the ruler, Calaron was still left in the dark on what secret agenda lay hidden behind the King's words of ordering the father to be brought to this chamber, what dark intentions he had in mind when it came to using the newly arrived father and daughter to the palace. To be entirely honest, he did not even wish to know.

Before Calaron could come up with any highly unlikely theories about how the King planned on exploiting the pair, he and Edenir finally arrived to the wanted destination that had been kept in secret for as much as a quarter of an hour. After a long, tense stride across the secret tunnel the pair stopped as small doors appeared ahead of them. They were not as impressive or decorated as the ones Edenir had seen before. What he had also noticed was that there were no guards surrounding it which meant whoever was behind those doors requested complete privacy. Edenir was not sure whether he should be alarmed by that fact or not.

"Shall we?" Calaron sighed and opened the doors which enabled Edenir to have a sight of the person that had called for him so urgently and in most secretive manner.

"My King," the Sage bowed as he entered the room, and then took a seat of his own, encouraging the new elf to copy his moves and show the great King the respect he merited.

Edenir did in the end do exactly as the First Sage, but he did not utter the same words for he deemed them false in comparison to his true identity. He would not step so low to offend and humiliate his own kin and blood by admitting this conceited Sindarin elf to be his righteous ruler. However, he did devote the elf quite a look which was not in the least polite nor lenient. Edenir had figured out summoning him to such secret location meant they had more use of him that he had initially predicted which meant they presumably needed his help more than he needed theirs.

"Thank you for joining me," the King responded to their gestures.

Edenir moved slowly to the other side of the table and sat directly across the King. This way he was exposed to him like never before. It was difficult to confront him straight away, but once he turned his eyes towards the majestic persona he did not see what he expected to. Thranduil's eyes were not peeking at Edenir as if he were trying to make out every single detail about his sinful soul nor were his hands in a position of hatching a scheme of the century. The look in his eyes was of weariness and desperation, his hands were gently placed on the table as if caressing the old wood beneath his fingertips. It was a rare sight to see the King in his vulnerable state, but this time it did not seem Thranduil was one bit ashamed of it. Perhaps that was due to the fact this was not one of his significant performances before a wide crowd, but merely a meeting of three ordinary elves, who were in fact all far from ordinary. Edenir being a good observer he was, noticed there was something tormenting the ruler's conscience and soul. It was painfully obvious his spirits were more trampled than ever before, yet the reason for this unfortunate occurrence remained unknown to Edenir, and he was not expecting he shall hear of it today nor any day after that. But despite the awkwardness and rawness of the situation they were all trapped in this very moment against their will, Edenir sensed a sort of need inside of him. If being dragged to this small chamber meant anything, it at least meant he had the right to speak, otherwise he wouldn't have been brought here at all. Thranduil had expectations of him, that much was certain. Only the proportions remained veiled behind the words unspoken.

"May I ask what is the meaning of this summoning? Where is my daughter?" Edenir finally gained the courage to speak his mind.

"There is no need to fear, my friend," Thranduil replied with his deep voice that kindled anyone's attention. "She is on her way."

Having answered only a part of his question, Edenir moved in his position in a nervous way, indicating he was not completely satisfied with this explanation. The King understood the subtle insinuation. He was, after all, a master of this skill.

"I must apologize on the Sage's behalf for not letting you know of the meaning of his action in the first place," he began. "You must understand this meeting is meant to be held in complete privacy and seclusion from curious eyes for matters discussed here today are of immensely sensitive nature not only for the Realm but yourself as well. That said, you must be wondering where is the connection between us and yourself. First, I believe it should be said that your arrival at Dol Guldur and my army finding you at that fortress of evil is not to be taken as pure chance. You have been brought here for a reason which isn't necessarily going to harm you unless you choose not to fully cooperate. You see, the Realm has found itself in direct threat with a form of evil no eyes of Middle Earth have ever seen. And as coincidentally as it may seem, you have awoken our interest since the moment we found you at the source of this same evil."

Edenir's hands froze on the chair's handles. Cold, treacherous drops of sweat trickled down behind the collar of his robe. His rib cage seemed to had crushed within itself and sucked all the air out of his lungs. These were merely cursory consequences Edenir felt as he listened to the King's words. At last, the meaning of their capture had been revealed. And the theories that came with understanding the meaning of all of this, manifested in the most numerous, cruel, and unthinkable ways Edenir's imagination had to offer.

Thranduil's rapidly progressing speech was roughly interrupted by an arrival of two most unexpected individuals.

Aireiel's flaming locks burst into the room as Meatherion pushed their way through the doors. His eyes immediately indicated remorse for intruding into the meeting in such robust and loud manner.

"Oh, perfect timing," Thranduil grinned as he turned to face the auburn beauty.

It fascinated him how those timid, demure eyes could burn with so much passion, devotion, and appetite that shaped her into an entirely different person. One fleeting moment she would seem so fragile, so innocent and bashful, and a resolute warrior the next. There was so much more to this wonderful creature than what lay exposed on the surface, Thranduil was sure. Something had captured his attention in a way rarely other things were able to. There was something about her unbreakable spirit, like a fluttering bird trapped inside her rib cage, striving to fly free for the first time. A power was stored inside of her, captured and contained; a power of such expanse it was certain it could not be caged for much longer before it would free itself of the rusty fetters and release a force that would doom all of Earth.

While Thranduil continued to let his gaze stroll all across Aireiel's slender frame, Edenir decided he would have none of this. Merely moments ago he was given an extremely elusive version of what had seemed to be a start of the explanation for their extended stay at the Realm, and now the same head of authority had the audacity to not only completely abandon the previously discussed subject, but lay his sinful, lustful eyes on his beloved daughter as well. There were a few carefully selected things Edenir was willing to negotiate upon in case of absolute necessity, including exposing his own daughter to the risk of being taken by the King. However, this had obviously begun to go out of hand. Outrageous and obscene were the words Edenir always had in mind when asked to describe the King, and on this occasion he was willing to utter them straight into his face for the first time if such perversity should continue right in front of his eyes.

But something most unexpected had occurred only seconds later. The arrival of the Lord Commander along with his daughter had surely brought short relief to Edenir, seeing that Aireiel is safe and finally by his side. Yet once he took a better look at Meatherion and one of his hands which clamped Aireiel's forearm in a firm grip that Edenir strongly disapproved, his eyes followed towards the other hand that held something that nearly robbed Edenir of his breath. It was something Edenir was very familiar with and was positive did not belong to the person who was now holding it. Even though heated words were ready to burst out of him, he managed to control himself in time. He figured bringing this item in the presence of both him and Aireiel was definitely some sort of cheap trick of manipulation from which the King was probably hoping he would receive sought answers. _Unless,_ Edenir cunningly thought, _they do not know it belongs to_ _us_ _._

"Please be seated," Thranduil bade the newcomers who followed the instructions. Edenir did not take his eyes of the thing Meatherion carefully placed before him now. But once he rested his eyes and mind of burdening himself by glaring at the item so avidly, he directed his eyes towards his daughter and saw she had employed exactly the same expression. A look of twinge, discomfiture, and insecurity. To be honest, Edenir was a bit worried she had let herself reveal her true emotions to everybody here and there were without doubt individuals who certainly could use that against her. As soon as Aireiel separated her glare from the object, she too searched for her father and found him in great disappointment which she understood as a reproach of her recent disgraceful behaviour. Aireiel instantly straightened her back and placed her silken hands on the smooth surface of the cold wooden table expanding in front of her. She did not even need to turn her neck to feel a scorching glare of expectation and admiration from the King. She knew she could easily secretly slake his want by returning him a stare, but she dared not defy her father once more for now was not appropriate time nor place for such brazen amusement.

"It is a very pleasant sight to see father and daughter united again, even though in such bitter circumstances," Thranduil began adroitly as usual. "As you have both most probably noticed, you have been summoned here for a reason. I have already very thoroughly explained the meaning of this meeting and its proceeding to your father, therefore I believe it is without use to repeat myself to you as well, neth híril," the King effortlessly turned his head towards Aireiel in one motion, "for I am sure you are already quite familiar with the formal part of interrogations." **(Young lady)**

Needless to say Aireiel was both appalled and frightened by the uttered words to which she did not find a more appropriate and unrevealing response than to merely devote the King a look she hoped would be convincing and believing enough. Aireiel realised that ever since they'd arrived to the palace, this was perhaps the most brittle and crucial situation they'd gotten in, as she was also aware that the regulation of her behaviour and manner might determine both of their uncertain fates. As she let the King hold his presumptuous gaze upon her a little longer, she realised a lot was at stake this very moment, and that father was most probably having high expectations of her. After the King had made it publicly known he found her irresistibly charming and captivating, Edenir shamelessly gave the impression that they needed to seize this chance while they were still at King's mercy, and that (in case the rumours would turn out to be correct which they highly likely would) was always a very unstable state.

Aireiel now followed Meatherion's slight gesture of politeness that showed her the way to her seat and kept her eyes wide open to the current flow of events. While she had to maintain the look of perfect concentration and attentiveness, the pressure of the situation was slowly consuming her mind. Behind the adamant wall she had build for protection, her world was falling apart. She could no longer tell apart foe from friend, a person who wished her good or harm. Could she even trust her own father? It seemed as if the desire and relentless need for approval of their true worth had truly changed him as an ellon. First thing she'd noticed was that Edenir's morals and principles had definitely changed in the short period of time they had been stuck here. It was as if he genuinely sought the King's admiration he used to despise and detest so fervently. Perhaps the influence of royalty's presence had had such a big impact on him, Aireiel thought, but one thing she was absolutely sure of: if it were on someone to get them out of this mess, it was on her. Something inside her had told her that despite the unfairness of it all, she was to settle this here and now, once and for all.

"I was not aware I am to be a part of a formal interrogation," was Aireiel's quick response. "What justifies it, if I may ask?"

"One would hope you might know this already, assuming by your exceptional gift of perception," Thranduil fired back as if he knew exactly what Aireiel was trying to achieve.

If Aireiel was determined to play this conniving game, she needed to acknowledge the opponent and his advantages as well as the rules of the game. Her slick tongue might have gotten her far in the past when she was able to rely on her father's protection and support at any time, regardless of the inanity of the act. But once they were faced with the brutal reality of making it entirely on their own without any support at all, they could no longer afford childish mistakes and foolish inaccuracies. One false step could mean doom for them both.

Seeing the elleth had chosen to remain quiet for now, Thranduil, being obviously satisfied with the result, continued.

"To continue with my explanation, there is another thing I feel obliged to inform you about," the King slowly began to open probably the most delicate part of the meeting. "There has been another incident to which you are not directly linked, but we have reasons to believe these two occurrences are somehow linked," Thranduil continued, overlooking Edenir's obvious growing anxiety about what was to come.

"An awfully brutal murder of one of the Council members took place within the halls of the palace almost a full week ago. The investigation of the circumstances is still ongoing and progressing with full speed each day. I dare to believe I speak honestly in the name of the entire room when I say we shall get to the bottom of this gruesome act and the reason behind it." He let the words sink in for a moment, before he softly carried on. "Your appearance at the fortress could not have arrived more inconveniently arranged for all of us. However, drastic times call for drastic measures. We simply could not let you pass without examining you first, subconsciously hoping we might perhaps find a bond that could help us understand the recent events. I am not overstating when claiming this is entirely uncharacteristic of our Realm. Strange events have been occurring within our borders, events that even the brightest of our kin cannot find a legitimate explanation for. It is safe to say a state of chaos has prevailed over our lands, and we are currently doing everything in our power to lessen its effects."

Just as Thranduil had predicted, the long awaited clarification of their unjust detention left both of the guests with grimaced face and an unreadable expression bending their features. After quite a thorough deliberation, Edenir raised his head towards the King.

"I appreciate the explanation we have both hoped to hear," he began, "but if you have not found what you have been eagerly looking for in us, I do not see what is the meaning of this prolonged detention."

Thranduil sighed in slight irritation since he was well aware there was no way he could have avoided additional questions coming right from the father. One could say he could have prepared himself for it, but he chose not to as a result of his relentlessly obdurate nature.

"The Council has mutually come to the agreement that the arrival of these newcomers should be taken advantage of in the most beneficial way we could think of. Which essentially meant to use the means of torture until we got the required information out of you and then get rid of whatever we should deem useless," Thranduil explained and continued, "but something else entirely occupied my mind. Something that might bring us closer to our goal that we could ever dream. Something which would enable us such advantage against our enemy that it could be almost considered as victory itself."

"It is not often we come across such a rare, invaluable gift that you have brought to us. The Gods have granted us a very generous fortune this season, that much is clear. What the Divine will shall bring to us in the near future is solely upon you," the King addressed the two guests. "For only you can perhaps salvage what has remained of this shattered kingdom."

The speech took a turn nobody in the room had expected to hear, perhaps not even the King himself. Switching from one mood to another, swaying between reality and expectation had exhausted Thranduil to the point where he could no longer maintain the mask of a cold, impervious ruler. Whether he liked it or not, he had reached the point where, for the sake of his people, he had to admit it to himself as well as those present that deep down in his soul, numbed of cold and grief, he still remained raw, pliable, and… human. He simply deemed nobody worthy enough to let them see this safely secured side of him. Sometimes not even those closest to him.

Despite inner tempest ravaging his soul, Thranduil now gracefully stood up from his seat and circled around others for a few seconds. Just as Edenir had expected, the King would stop at Meatherion's side, keenly eyeing the object laid on the wooden table. It undoubtedly attracted the attention of all present at the moment, yet one individual was especially drawn to it, and it certainly was not Meatherion. One could not deny there was exceptional power tied to the mystic weapon that had enchanted all of them, however the energy stored within could produce music that could be heard only by a selected few. This specific sort of chant levitated amid the gathered group, creating a form of daze to enter the minds of the weakest among them. The ancient melody carried along a rare spell so hoary and mighty it affected each individual in its own way. The frivolous and naive minds were quickly deceived by the seemingly harmless power hidden inside the weapon; great, yet craven and dispirited souls were drawn by its emanating glory and reputation which they desired solely for themselves; those of avaricious, fiendish, and irreverent mentality could as well be persuaded to think this magical object was a divine bequest by the Gods which would prove their existence as holy as the tradition itself. All of those minds were driven by one single purpose: possession of immeasurable power to reign over others. However, there was one exception among those voracious minds, one that dared to differ, and one that could understand the sword's sweet lilt. Such minds were very rare to come across, but once you did, it was certain those minds were destined to create great things.

"Indeed, your ears have not tricked you," the King dramatically broke the anxious silence declaring, "we have a spy in our midst."

The tension in the room rised to such level one could almost hear the sudden, acute pounding of neck veins, the trickle of sweat slowly progressing its way down their hairline in thick drops, the frozen, absent look in each individual's eyes for they had all realised they were to be a part of something historical.

"My Lord," Calaron finally calmed himself down to catch his breath. "These are serious accusations. But are they premised on anything?"

It might have seemed as if Calaron yet again displayed lack of faith in his leader, while in all honesty, the First Sage wanted to believe those words to be true as anyone in the room. If Thranduil's sudden proclamation meant they had finally arrived to a plausible clarification of the mess that had been prevailing at court ever since the news of murder spread, this could eventually lead to the long awaited recovery of peace in the Woodland Realm.

"There are things I have intentionally kept from your knowledge for which I take entire responsibility," Thranduil addressed the gathered group. "I am not proud of what I have done, but trust me when I say it was for your own good. The less information, the safer we are."

The King allowed them to comfortably settle in their seats while he roamed back to his appointed space. What he was about to tell them certainly required a fair amount of concentration, courage, and patience. He successfully managed to conceal what had truly been worrying him for the past two stressful days, ever since he received the healers' full report of the autopsy which he discreetly thoroughly analysed when he was able to sneak into his chambers unseen. The disordered heaps of scrolls that rested unravelled, still, and untouched in their complicated position on Thranduil's working surfaces in his secured quarters, were the crucial and indispensable piece of evidence that formed the basis of his theory. Thranduil had not eaten or slept for as many hours as it took him to systematically look through and arrange the reports for it was his mission to search as deep as it was necessary to fully comprehend the written words. He needed to be absolutely sure the healers were certain and to understand himself the consequences of what was written. It would unmistakeably present the greatest challenge the Realm had ever faced.

"Two moons past I received a fully completed report of the ellon's autopsy which was performed several days ago," Thranduil began slowly while observing their faces and keeping a watchful eye upon any slight changes on their still features. "However, I decided to delay the passing of the information to you since the discovery I have come across have stirred some severe disbelief and repudiation within me for which I may or may have not had a reason. In conclusion, I stand behind my actions and I agree if you deem them selfish, unforgiving, and insolent. As a king, I am in possession of a lot of facts I often choose not to share with you. As a king, I have the right to act solely upon the behalf of my own will and judgement. This time I was left with two options. I could either have kept this entirely to myself until our judgement day would come upon us or I could seek help in most sensible people I have the privilege to know. Obviously, the decision was not particularly difficult."

"The report contained complete detail of how and when the ellon was murdered. Moreover, they were able to determine what sort of wickedness caused him to suffer such unimaginable pain. The healers discovered what was the initial cause of death through unconventional methods of examination which we could argue are a bit more unethical. This resulted in providing us almost perfect analysis of the ellon's fluid alternation. His blood, that was nowhere to be found at the scene, was turned black which leads us to only one probable conclusion – the involvement of black magic."

The said statement left a distinct impact on the listeners. It was as if their eyes froze in the moment they realised the words they were hearing. Their hearts were beginning to sense the cold and cruelty of the situation, the raw exposure to such revelation left them all speechless.

Only now Thranduil had come to see why detaining this key discovery should only have been longer. How could he possibly think they were ready? He did not think of them as inapt or incapable of comprehending the consequences on their own. However, once he saw how gobsmacked they truly were, he did begin to doubt his decision of sharing the information with them since he started to realise they had absolutely no idea of what was coming their way.

"My Lord, I..." Calaron's words fell silent as he deepened in his thoughts once more.

Suddenly, in the middle of the extremely tense atmosphere, Edenir decisively stood from his chair and looked the King straight into his icy eyes.

"Your Majesty, while I still somehow trust this might come to have some sort of meaning at the end, I fail to see how this has anything to do with me and my daughter," his hand flew in Aireiel's direction. "Indeed we came at _your_ request and we are deeply grateful for all the kind hospitality you showed us, but I fear this is just beyond us both. We are of absolutely no use to you."

"There, my dear mellon," Thranduil subtly chuckled, "is where you are wrong."

Before Edenir could object to this confusing answer, Thranduil asked him to indulge him a little more patience for things would indeed start to become clearer. But even the King himself feared what sort of additional nuisance would his explanation cause among others present.

"The traced source of the means which killed our fellow kinsman leads us right here, to our very own territory," the ruler continued with a cold voice. "What caused the poor ellon's demise was a deadly poison of Egil's Vipers 1. Its venom is quite a common use of extermination, nothing we have not seen before. But there is one inconvenience. The species was wiped out of the Rhovanion region several decades ago, due to a specific epidemic it caused near the plains of Talath Harroch. There is only one place that has kept a sample of its venom in case of another outbreak. You may have one guess where that is."

"But how by Gods was it possible for one individual to pass dozens of heavy-equipped guards unseen and was able to nick a secured item whose whereabouts were known only to a selected few?" Meatherion interfered passionately. It still puzzled him how someone had deceived him with such a cheap trick.

"The answer is hidden in your question, dear Meatherion," the King replied. "It was not a single man's mind that invented this most genius treachery. Oh no, it must have been planned months ago. Someone has been playing with our minds ever since we spotted the spiders' uncharacteristic behaviour in the South. This sick game was invented by a mastermind of a special kind."

Calaron continued to observe the polished table in silence as he had been for the past ten minutes. Thranduil's words perhaps hit him the most of them all. It shocked him right to the core of his soul for he subconsciously began to take the blame for what had happened. His reasonable and rational side told him to act swift and make an end to this disarray once and for all, while his heart commanded him he ought to punish himself for his negligence and sloppiness that resulted in most shocking outcome. It did not take him long before he even made himself believe he should have prevented the terrible occurrence in some way, although a part of him knew he could not have possibly influence the flow of the events. Now it was only the matter of discipline and willpower that he let his reasonable side guide his actions.

"How do you propose we act?" the Sage heard himself say. He felt a relief he in the end acted in a way that wouldn't pose him more self doubt.

"Firstly, I believe we should ask the guards that were assigned to protect the area during that time before we begin with the deeper search for the rat," Meatherion eagerly suggested to which some of them silently agreed with a determined nod.

"Is it possible there is a whole collection of them?" Calaron continued with the questions.

"We must be prepared for the unexpected," Thranduil smartly intervened. "We must assume there is an unidentified circle of conspirators that has been thus far very successful in their endeavours. The only way we could expose them is to think few steps ahead and wait for them to make a mistake."

"Wouldn't you suppose that if such 'circle' has been able to operate unseen and undetected right in front of our noses to such outrageous level they even managed to execute one of our own people, that they have already been careful enough to know when not to make mistakes?" Calaron objected. The rest of them couldn't find a justifiable argument to fight him with against this notion.

It even took Thranduil a few seconds to let those words sink in. Not that he wasn't capable of understanding them the minute he heard them, the stated was simply so shocking that he could not believe it to be the truth at first. He immediately knew Calaron was not throwing them unnecessary doubt and trying to discourage them, quite the opposite. He was aware of the real situation and it was impossibly intrigued to such extent they were forced to take into consideration all the facts and leave their prejudices as their expectations behind. They needed to do what the situation asked them to do, not what they wished to do. Dire circumstances such as these never required mercy and compassion, but rather calculated and striking moves. The necessary actions that needed to be taken called for a huge amount of courage, a strict and cunning strategy, and incessant determination. Although it started to become quite clear to Thranduil what sort of actions they all had in mind.

"What do you think?" Thranduil's voice echoed. To whom the voice was directed was unknown.

Once certain people (such as Calaron and Meatherion, who had already contributed a significant input to the discussion) eliminated themselves and started looking around the room, all eyes seemed to land on the reticent elleth who appeared to busy counting the seams on her velvet garment rather than participate in the conversation. When Aireiel became aware that the room had gone oddly quiet, she finally decided to look up and was mildly shocked at the result.

"Were you speaking to me, my Lord?" she asked in disbelief.

"Yes, you, young lady," the King replied with a soft laugh that melted Aireiel's heart. She started to notice small, yet evident similarities to his son. For a brief second she unconsciously and spontaneously believed she was speaking to the Prince and not his father since she was so caught up in the brevity of the breathtaking moment.

"I think I am in no position to have a ready opinion, Your Majesty."

"I suspect you are almost entirely composed of ready opinions not yet shared," Thranduil pressured further.

As a consequence of Thhranduil's bold response, Aireiel found herself in a very awkward position. The formal convention forbid her to object the King (to which her father would gladly agree), while her conscience told her to never bow to such humiliation of being superficially analysed by someone who thought they knew her, regardless of that person's position or status. _Alright, time for consequence analysis._ What more could they do to them? They were under impression she and her father were in possession of some important knowledge that yet remained unknown to them. In such circumstances it would be simply foolish of them to have them both killed or tortured because of two reasons: if they killed them now, they would carry that knowledge to their graves, and Aireiel also somehow highly doubted Legolas would approve of any harm being done to them. The only option that had remained was to act on behalf of her proud conscience.

"In the end it always matters who I decide to share them with," Aireiel wittily answered to his offensive, but not entirely false observation.

The great King let out a faint chuckle before he began to contemplate how to get the elleth to speak. As much as he held the little minx in high esteem, he also was starting to become slightly infuriated with her. While he admired and appreciated even the most modest signs of healthy rebellion and nonconformity, he did not like when he was overshadowed by someone. It was refreshing meeting someone wild, raw, and genuine which was the exact opposite of what he was used to in the palace. However, he was born in the spotlight, and he wished to maintain that renown.

Of course, Thranduil was not the only one who was feeling rather disapproval of elleth's choice of words. Edenir was more or less bursting with anger, but his eyes remained as stoic and unaffected as if it weren't his own daughter disobeying the agreement the two had made at the earlier time of their arrival.

"Would you be so kind as to indulge us for this special occasion and share with us your insight into what has been recently discussed?" Thranduil asked with obvious mockery in his voice that provoked in the elleth a smile so lovely, so heartfelt, so _familiar_ it sent chills down his spine.

"Why, naturally, my Lord. The last thing anyone would want is to be short of _my_ opinion, am I right?" Aireiel looked around in hope she would find a glare that would burn alike her heart at the moment, one that would encourage her in her actions. She was not exactly surprised when all she found were bored, pitiful eyes, pointed at her in faked expectation. Nonetheless, she seized the opportunity that had been so generously placed in front of her.

"My opinion on the matter is plain and simple – we should fight," was a response that now fully awoke those who had dazed off during the dull discussion. "I believe the nation needs to stand for its people, values, and honour. If you are not capable of doing so, you might as well capitulate before they come to collect you."

From first to last person present in the room was utterly shocked at what the elleth had just uttered. Nobody in the room had expected such audacity addressed directly at the King, especially from a guest that had just recently been welcomed into the palace and had been under His Majesty's mercy ever since. Even now, once the words were lingering in the air above them like a dark, heavy cloud, they refused to believe them to be the truth, although everybody secretly knew it was something that definitely needed to be spoken out loud in front of the King. They simply couldn't confront them and accept them as something that was necessary to take into consideration if they wished the Realm to return with a stronger and more efficient strategy.

Aireiel, who only now became aware of the weight of her words, couldn't dare to look her father straight into the eyes. She realised she had broken their agreement of being as invisible, unobtrusive, and inconspicuous long time ago, and that if her words should be misinterpreted it would mean the end of world as they knew it or even ruin itself. She knew exposing them in such reckless and imprudent way would have probably done more damage than good (as she initially intended), but she decided to voice her opinion nonetheless. Moreover, since the King himself bade her to speak her mind it would be downright disrespectful and impolite to reject his request. At least that was what Aireiel was repeating in her head to calm her guilty conscience that somehow began to take over her.

Even though decades in the wilderness had taught the young elleth many things, including caution, reticence, and regard for consequences, she was rarely given an opportunity to take the cold, heavy armour off and experience the real world she thought she'd forgotten during the years of solitude that had passed. It was overwhelming and liberating to set her unruly soul free from time to time as it was exhilarating to show the world she was still fierce and lethal even beneath that armour of hers. Her father might have wanted her to choose a different, safer path and she understood he meant it for the sake her own well-being, however it was only Aireiel who truly knew the will of her heart. And she knew she must obey it for this would mean a far greater contribution to her overall health than hiding, tameness, and grovelling ever could.

It is needless to say Thranduil was most astonished at her words of all for they were aimed directly at him. Such radical ideas usually called for immediate reaction in the sense of imprisoning the impudent bastard. This time Thranduil decided to yet again excuse the elleth her presumption, however it only now came to him it was in fact him who pressured her to say whatever she had to say, regardless of its controversy. That meant whoever felt somehow offended by her words would have to demand an explanation from the King why he allowed the presence of such inexperienced, oblivious little elleth in the first place. Thranduil gathered the courage to take a glimpse at the group of people in front of him and was rather surprised to see none of them seemed exactly appalled at the elleth's words. Furthermore, they appeared to enjoy her brave show (with the notable exception of her outraged father of course) and some even subtly approved of her idea. She seemed to had successfully enchanted them with her abiding charm which Thranduil found both displeasing and satisfying. He was pleased to see his flame-haired elleth was approved by the rest of the members of his circle, but he was also bitter and angry to see how much they began to revel in her appearance. It could nowhere nearly be defined as jealousy for Aireiel did not represent someone Thranduil could genuinely care for and be attached to; he was simply irritated by the idea of this jewel of a creature being taken away from him or adored by the eyes of anyone but him.

"While I profoundly appreciate your enthusiasm and passion, I'd rather see we solve this without unnecessary blood spill," he at last declared. Aireiel did not flinch.

"And how would you define what happened to the ellon that was murdered at your own court? A poor victim of unfortunate circumstances?" she boldly argued.

"That is enough!" Thranduil snapped, his frame considerably widened and rigid which created a threatening, intimidating pose he was trying to achieve. He was so overwhelmed by the moment that he completely forgot just how much he had spilled his emotions in front of everyone. This was not his usual behaviour, far from it. It was again this provocative newcomer's fault for the reckless and mindless manner he used to address both the guests as his colleagues in an entirely different way as he wished to. "I have asked for your opinion alone, without unnecessary, and should I add incongruous commentary. You are indeed entitled to form a certain viewpoint on the matter – that is the right I have yet not chose to deny you, therefore do not tempt me to carry out such threats. If you should impose your views but once more, I can assure you it shall be the last time you would ever even think of any similar audacity."

This persistent, fiery creature yet again managed to get to his core where he was most vulnerable, where he vowed to himself, after his mel had faded from his life, he would not let anyone through his shield. Still, she was able to find a way in. Thranduil did not know what shocked him more: the fact that his defence and guard turned out to be not as strong as he presumed or the fact that in this moment he was confronted with second most vexing being he had ever encountered. **(M** **e** **l = love)**

Before any further damage could be caused to the already fatal situation, Edenir decided to step in, despite his inputs being often unwanted or declined by the word of the King himself.

"I beg you to forgive my daughter's insolence, Your Majesty, it won't happen again," his humble voice pleaded.

"Indeed, you should learn to control your iel better for such behaviour could soon lead to serious consequences," Thranduil replied, his words wrapped in ruthless cold that even managed to surprised the dauntless elleth. He was somehow able to unwind his taut pose he'd been using to intimidate the elleth, as he settled deeper in his chair.

Even though forgiveness was truly an unexpected outcome of this feud that might show the King was still willing to let these moronic guests live for a little while longer, Thranduil could never forget her outraged voice that now echoed in his mind, numbed from the weight of her words that now pushed against his skull in the rhythm of his pulse.

Only once in his entire lifetime had he faced an elleth with such limitless mind, wild spirit, and sharp tongue like Aireiel's. The reminiscence of a familiar scent of jasmine and lavender, of long locks as bright as summer sunshine caressing his skin in a mild breeze, of a warm smile formed by the lips pressed against his pale skin, and of a love so devoted, so brave and strong took him back hundreds of years to a time he thought he'd forgotten but apparently remained stuck in a corner of his subconsciousness. There she was again, floating in front of him like a celestial being that she was. The image of her swaying in the thick summer air, covered in nothing but light, transparent lilac toga exposing her silken skin at the shoulders and gently dancing with the wind along with the forest creatures, evoked a feeling so striking it almost made his knees forget their basic function. Suddenly, he was out of breath and a sensation progressed to the level of an intense vertigo. Thranduil instantly lost the ability of perceiving the environment around him as well as the sense of orientation. Before he was able to acknowledge what was happening to him and shout for help, his head was already rapidly falling towards the floor. The only thing he was able to utter into the unknown (probably meant as a prayer to the Gods above mocking his weakness) as foreign arms were trying to prevent his unexpected collapse was: "Return to me, Itheliel..."

1A huge poisonous, predatory serpent in the south of Mirkwood.


	11. Chapter 11

**How else to better celebrate Halloween than with a new update? This chapter mostly concentrates on Thranduil's inward conflict and his relationship with Legolas (much deep, much sad), I hope you enjoy the progress of the story nevertheless!**

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Chapter 11

The air surrounding the lying figure whose forehead was covered in silken, soaked compress, was much more pure and fresh as the one he last remembered. The King fervently opened his eyes once he was aware of his surroundings, but was bitterly disappointed to find out his limbs and muscles were still too feeble to enable him a straight posture. As reason replaced the pounding pain in his head, he was not as surprised to realise he was alone in his dim chamber. _How long have I been detained in here?_ The King tried his best to quench the growing panic within him and think rationally with now fully operating reason.

The last thing he managed to salvage from his memory was horrendous dizziness that even now stung his insides just at the thought of it and made his complexion grow even paler than it already was as a gift of nature. After that it was all a state of complete darkness. Except one moment. He could not tell how deep and long he had been unconscious by then, but somewhere in the middle of the entranced experience he remembered having sensed warmth, most probably of natural cause. Even though his eyelids were tightly shut during that phase, he could swear there was a beam of light shining directly upon him, originating from an unknown source. Only then he was beginning to understand his mind had most likely been taken advantage of by an unidentified force and that he must resist it by all means. If only he had had the necessary strength. All of a sudden, a voice came through that single beam of heavenly light. The voice was so divine, pure, and ethereal it could have only belonged to one person.

" _Leitho, nin rod beren," the voice entreated. "Leitho nin o_ _lín rín._ _"_ _ **(Release, my brave warrior. Release me from your memory.)**_

At first he refused it to be true, he denied the obvious. But once he let the voice roam through his head, he was certain. It must have been her. Only she could make him allow her to whisper to him in such tempting manner. He admitted it would have been futile to attempt at ascertaining how by Gods she had managed to entered his mind like that, although there was a possibility it was all a deception, a nasty trickery to force him to succumb to the Darkness. However, in that moment he did not care at all if it were the Dark Lord himself poking through his most sensitive and confidential memories. All that mattered in that moment was that he got to listen to the heavenly voice once again after decades beyond his count had passed when he had last heard her. Thranduil was aware a godsend such as this did not come along randomly and especially not very often, so he intended to enjoy it as much as he could.  
He gave in to the warmth as it started to embrace his entire body, accompanied with pleasant shivers. It was a sensation so enslaving he could not fight it if he tried or wished to. He was even somehow embarrassed he displayed such weakness and proneness to had permitted the mysterious force to search the deepest corners of his mind in such absurd way, yet he was not willing to take any action against it whatsoever. The behaviour he was under at the moment was so atypical of him, he could find no logical explanation for it. It was as if his entire being had subjected to this one goal that was getting closer and closer in order to reach the source of the undying light. To reach _her._

"My Lord, you're awake!" a familiar tone awoke him then from his thoughts of remembering the past incident.

Calaron descended the yellow stone stairs with admirable speed and haste that slightly startled the frail King. Thranduil noticed Calaron was attired in a different robe than the one he used to attend the summoning. As the Sage was progressing towards his sumptuous sleeping quarters, Thranduil used the quick second to turn to his right where he noticed the small pond of crystal water directly opposite of the stairs Calaron had just now reached the end of. During the day, the beams of sunshine would shine straight onto the pond's surface so the water would turn almost every known shade of turquoise. Now, the only source of light that seemed to conjure the pond to even darker colour than the depths of the deepest oceans, were the miniature lanterns and torches radiating with medium light. Thranduil managed to deduce it was a very dark night Calaron had chosen as a time of his visit.

"How are you feeling, Your Majesty?" the Sage enquired, carefully drawing near the King's bed.

"Much better, thank you, Calaron," he replied. "Tell me, what happened to me?"

Calaron looked at Thranduil with great expectation in his eyes, before he decided to direct his gaze elsewhere for a brief second. "Well, I was more hopeful of Your Majesty providing me with that information, but I must say I am not exactly surprised if the entire thing seems like a riddle to you as well, my Lord."

"Indeed, it still feels like an ill dream," the King confessed.

"We were all getting rather anxious and eager to hear what would Your Majesty's reply be to the elleth's daring suggestions. We sensed something was not quite right when your hands were fervently starting to search for some support," Calaron paused. "At first it seemed like a mild case of giddiness, but it turned out to be far more serious. You haven't been awake for almost a week. You've experienced a severe hypnosis, my Lord."

 _Of course it was too good to be true,_ Thranduil mumbled to himself in his mind. During the apparent hypnosis, he knew a part of him was trying to tell him exactly what Calaron was describing to him, but he chose to ignore it. He _deliberately_ chose to be seduced into a state of complete helplessness where someone had all the access to his thoughts as it pleased. Thranduil was all of a sudden disgusted with the sick idea of someone being privy to the things he did not share with anyone ever before. Another bitter feeling cut into his soul as disappointment of himself settled in his mind. He could never clarify his actions that were somehow justifying what the unknown force was doing to his mind, although he was aware a tough task was ahead of him. Showing in front of everyone once again and being able to deliver an explanation of the events that everyone would deem authentic and trustworthy for there was no chance he was going to tell them what was truly going on in his head during that time.

"Water," was all he managed to say back. "Bring me some water."

Before Calaron had the time to express his surprise at his King's response, he was already half way to the jugs of fresh water resting on a silver salver hidden in one of the carved shelves. The action provided the King with some additional time to deduce what he had just heard. A hypnosis would mean someone had violently entered his mind without his consent although he was absolutely certain no one present in that room possessed the ability of such dark witchcraft. There was no doubt it was connected to the series of strange events that had been occurring in the palace in the last week, and he was not comfortable with becoming one of the victims himself. If he was expected to fight this battle, it ought to be with a clear, unsullied mind, and now that things had progressed to the level when he was not able to protect himself from the Shadow any longer, it was about time he dedicated serious attention to these matters.

"Here you are, my Lord," Calaron returned, offering the King a glass of the drink who gladly accepted it. "How are you proposing we should proceed?"

"I believe my health is now entirely entrusted to the hands of our skilled healers," Thranduil wittily responded.

"Of course, my Lord. Please understand that it is not my intention to shove you straight back to reality of our current state. However, I must ask who would you wish should replace your position during the indefinite time of your recovery?"

"Something tells me you already know the answer to your question, great Sage," the King employed a devious smile to which Calaron replied with a light, humble chuckle. "You have showed excellent work and loyalty during my time of reign for which you have earned my utmost respect and trust. It would be an honour to have you in my place while I lay here, unable to control your every move," he concluded with another heart-warming smile. He never managed to disappoint Calaron with such rare occasions that proved Thranduil did, in fact, own a heart.

"I am deeply grateful," Calaron expressed his gratitude with a gesture of bowing his head in front of the ruler, and then returned the gaze. "The rest of the Council would be thrilled to see you have recovered from your accident. Should I call for them?"

"No need for that just now, Calaron. I only wish to see my son, if he is anywhere nearby."

"Certainly, Your Majesty," the Sage suddenly stopped. "It's just..."

"Yes? Do not be afraid to speak your mind, Calaron, not in these conditions," Thranduil prompted.

"It is not an issue of that nature. Legolas has been waiting outside your chamber almost the entire time of your slumber, and I am afraid he is waiting to deliver some distressing news that might be a bit difficult to comprehend at this moment. It is not an appropriate time to strain you with further stress now that Your Majesty's has only begun to recover."

"I think it would be wise to let the healers decide what is appropriate and what not in my condition," Thranduil snapped without thinking.

"They have already agreed you should not accept many visitors at the early stages of your resurgence," Calaron quickly responded as if expecting a sentence like that coming from Thranduil's mouth. "We would not wish to see you in any more pain that you have already endured."

"It is very kind of you to worry about my well-being in the way that you do, but I believe I still have some authority in this place however chained to the bed."

As the situation was growing to become more and more intense, it was clear there was nothing more Calaron could do in order to prevent Thranduil from doing senseless things such as stress about political matters when he ought to take care of himself first. But he was also thankful he was in the service of such devoted king who would not forsake his people even in times like these when desertion would seem the easiest way out.

"I will call for Legolas immediately," Calaron declared and left the chamber.

The news of King's improved health spread far and wide across the halls of the Elvenking's palace. For five full days the solicitous inhabitants were in dreadful state of anticipation of any information being passed to them in relation to their leader's health. When the merry tidings of King's regained health reached the first ears of keen court maidens, it was guaranteed the entire palace was to rejoice and praise the Gods for their merciful decision.

Faelwen was insouciantly strolling the Southern corridors where servants and officials would make their abode within the great palace, occasionally encountering her assistants and other maids whose occupation, just like Faelwen's, compelled them to dash about the palace to either tidy the royal bedrooms or clean the dust gathering in the Upper Halls where feasts were usually held. As a matter of fact, if Faelwen's recollections were correct, she did hear one of the main maids mention special decorations were ordered from one of the officials earlier, having something to do with the King's blessed recovery. She hadn't devoted it much thought just yet (due to being dreadfully engrossed in work since dawn), however she did wish to avoid hearing about the King as much as she could after the horribly embarrassing incident a few weeks ago in His Majesty's chamber. She still hadn't entirely recovered from that unforgivable imprudence.

The task appointed to her this morning was rather surprising, given that she was normally responsible for maintenance of chambers in the High hallways. At first a thought of penalty crossed her mind, that she was to finally make amends for that error for having humiliated herself and dishonoured the entire workforce in front of the King in such disgraceful way. But while being closely attentive to her superior who commanded her what her duties this morning shall include, Faelwen failed to sense any signs of obvious reprimand in the maid's voice or her choice of words. Faelwen could not exactly say she was surprised to had come across such discovery for she did not know what she expected in the first place. Nonetheless, a large burden disappeared in her chest that had been weighing her down ever since the guilt of misinterpreting the commands of cleaning His Majesty's chamber began to spring in her mind. Even though she was aware it was nothing more than an insipid joke on her account for giving the impression of being so feeble and diffident (which made her appear as a perfect target for the ruthless maids who had been serving the Royals for decades), she was tired of putting the blame on herself when in fact she was the last person who ought to have guilty conscience in this situation.

Therefore, Faelwen refused to believe the task of aiding the indefatigable healers in the chambers which were located East of her previous workplace, was a part of a scheme on a much larger scale. Quite the opposite, Faelwen actually preferred a change in the tedious work routine she'd been absorbed in ever since she'd been evaluated as apposite and harmless enough to work in the Royal workforce. Perhaps the displacement would benefit her in many unknown ways, including resting her mind of heavy thoughts of guilt and shame, she supposed. In any case, Faelwen was determined to prove herself a worthy, assiduous, and studious worker with respectable work ethics.

The gritty elleth began to descend the relatively steep path leading to the healing chambers were she was intended to meet with her new superiors of whom she heard great, admirable things. Unlike her regular superiors, the healers were renowned for their exceptional gift of patience, serenity, invaluable wisdom, and an enviable amount of laudable experience. It was safe to say both the workforce and those of higher rank deemed them as absolute professionals whose supervision would meant the highlight of any worker's career. And now Faelwen happened to be amongst those fortunate enough to fall under their guardianship.

In a matter of seconds, she reached the last step of the intricate stairway whose edge ended in a broad, almost elegant manner which was not a common characteristic to come across in these parts, except for the ornamentations carved in the rock accompanying the stairway. Of course, the entire architecture of the palace was meticulously designed beforehand, however these corridors were known for their simplicity and austerity, although many would quickly deem it wiser to have multiple decorations down there to ease the suffering of those confined to those chambers. Despite the objections of the owners of such opinions, the area remained festooned with as little ornaments as possible which also proved to be the most suitable working environment for the healers. Being so occupied with observing the ambient around her, Faelwen almost overlooked the one she was supposed to meet with.

"Mae g'ovannen," carefully announced a magical voice coming from behind of one of the massive pillars that constructed the underground maze of chambers. "I assume you were sent by Mirwen to meet your new obligations?"

Faelwen swiftly turned around to add a visual image to the calm voice that greeted her, and found out that to be a very agreeable image to look at, indeed. The healer who was to be her supervisor for the day, was a tall, charming ellon of a slim, delicate figure and refined character. The timid maid was rather pleasantly surprised to realise the duties she was to fulfil this morning would not at all be as dull and tame with having such divine specimen to report to.

"Am I correct in saying you are the new addition to our underground workforce?" the ellon kindly repeated himself, reminding the maid of her obviously inoperative speech ability.

"Forgive me," she frantically apologized, "I guess I must have left my thoughts elsewhere. Indeed, I have been sent by Mirwen, the main maid. I've been told there is a shortage of healers' assistants, so she suggested I should come to your aid. You see, I am usually in charge of His Majesty's chambers, but since he's been locked in there for…" she chuckled, then awkwardly settled down once she'd processed the words she'd been spiting out. "Oh, silly me! You are obviously well-informed of His Majesty's condition, I'm sure." The clumsy ending to Faelwen's elongated apology produced a tiny, yet spontaneous twist of the healer's lips upwards.

"Excellent," he uttered then guided his long, grey cape around his frame to invite the maid to accompany him through the maze of healing chambers. "I trust the duties that you will be performing here have already been explained to you?"

"I'm afraid not in detail, no," Faelwen responded, fascinated with her supervisor's feather-light swing of his chestnut hair.

"In that case, let me give you a quick round through the chambers, if that is alright with you," he proposed, giving her a quick glance Faelwen managed to catch. Thankfully, the healer redirected his gaze right in time before noticing the blush creeping onto her cheeks.

"Oh, that would be most kind," was her quiet reply, full of admiration and awe for her guide.

As they were elegantly passing the massive brick pillars, the healer fleetingly introduced himself as Cereiadon and continued with short, yet amusing historical tales of the chambers they were currently sauntering.

"A rather equivocal reputation is attached to these chambers," the healer began, squinting his eyes while scanning the low ceiling above his head to remind himself how much he detested the poor effort the previous draughtsmen poured into the construction of such vital part of the palace. "They say a heinous curse had been cast on this particular area by the primordial sorcerers, whose content mostly consisted of foretelling misfortune to anyone roaming these lands. Have I scared you off yet?"

Faelwen's inadvertent reverie of Cereidon's facial features almost caused her to mishear the last sentences that had been devoted to her. It was an effective attempt to see whether or not she had paid close attention to his narration and whether it had been in vain or not. Cereidon was both glad and allayed to see the flummoxed maid prove his theories false.

"I would have to disappoint you in that regard," Faelwen giggled coyly, intentionally playing along with what she'd interpreted was a flirtatious diversion. "I've heard much more frightening stories compared to yours, so I am sad to inform you that your intimidating words have not moved me at all."

"What if I were to say this was not yet an end to my story as you have so foolishly presumed?" the healer continued with a careful choice of words.

"Then I am most thrilled to hear the rest of it," Faelwen said and offered him a heart-warming smile.

Cereidon smirked to himself as he looked straight ahead of the path that was leading to the quarters of the main healers. With her witty, spontaneous, and genuine responses, the maid had been able to induce a creditable amount of surprise to rise within the ellon. Her being so forthright with him did not alarm him as much as the fact that she had awoken something that had not been in his daily use since the beginning of the reign of that preposterous silver-haired and sharp-tongued ellon that identified himself as his King. Despite having his thoughts filled with the images of the risible ruler he wished would burn along with him, he decided to vanquish his urge to execute his long-desired conspiracy plot against the King. Right now, he had to tend to other matters which demanded his attention.

"There has come to a resurrection of the curse, according to the hearsay," he continued with a darker tone. "Apparently, it has spread among the palace some time ago. Several claim this is the factual cause of that ellon's death. It is said the curse's aura persisted, and has lingered and lurked ever since the tragic murder, supposedly already in pursuit of its new victim."

"From my perspective, hearsay is nothing more than an indicator of lack of vivacity in the palace, and should not be given any specific value to what it spreads," Faelwen dexterously responded, actively contributing to the admirable impression the healer had already made of her.

"I am quite taken aback by the way you choose to interpret such upsetting news," Cereidon sincerely confessed. "You have proven to handle stress surprisingly well. Are my hopes for expecting to see the same amount of fortitude from your work progress in vain?"

The maid giggled slightly to the Cereidon's teasing remark, then answered in most professional manner: "My greatest wish is to exceed your expectations, nin herdir."

"You've already embarked on that path," he assured her with a comforting smile.

Faelwen carefully observed the inert patients on her right (as her left was blocked by the Cereidon's tall figure), hopelessly chained to the bed where the healers nourished their battered limbs and eased their hollow minds, rendered numb by the numerous injuries sustained during regional battles, with false assurances of brighter future glistering ahead of them. As she continued to pity their unfortunate state, she realised that this part of the healing chambers rarely ever saw a happy ending to a fate like theirs. The further they deepened into the hallway, the gloomier and darker was the atmosphere surrounding them. With each new patient she'd lay her eyes upon, she would come closer and closer to the imminent discovery that this place was not in fact an infirmary as it had first appeared to be, but rather the final harbour for those prepared to sail away to the Undying Lands.

The two finally approached the main healers' quarters which were stationed in a corner at the end of the underground hallway. Faelwen took a last turn to the hapless sufferers before devoting her full attention to the one who was about to deliver the required instructions of what was expected of her today.

"I hope all of your senses are currently present," Cereidon jested which provoked an expected light chortle from the maid. "Your service will be needed at the department adjacent to my quarters which could prove helpful should you find yourself in need of any additional information regarding your work. Now, there is one specific patient whose condition is at most fragile stage and requires treatment with special care. I trust you to tackle the issue accordingly. You will find him under the sign "56" attached to the arch above the entrance to the chamber. Others are to be dealt with pursuant to whatever their report demands. All clear?"

All the maid could produce was a slight, yet evident and resolute nod to confirm she had successfully processed the received instructions. From what she was capable to discern, the job she was supposed to fulfil did not seem at all that difficult nor complicated, however she did still feel a bit disinclined towards dealing directly with the poor patients she previously eyed. For it was not pity she felt any longer which she feared would get the best of her in the end of today. It was her own remorse and responsibility of inexplicable origin for something beyond her comprehension or capability. It was as if this place warned her of her own past mistakes which were far beyond mending, when she was surrounded by living and (still) breathing evidence of what an irreparable situation looked like. This entire area reeked of regret, failure, ordeal, and despair. Suddenly, an entirely different sensation began seeping through her mind. Faelwen felt empathy. Empathy and respect for those who were lying beneath her, chained to their fates for eternity, unable to defend their actions except with the visual image of what was left of their physical appearance which could never in total justify their decisions. And most of all: the helplessness Faelwen herself began to feel once she would look at them knowing they were compelled to live with their consciences in such unbearable state with no real opportunity to ever repent for their sins. With no second chance to create a better life for themselves.

Drowning in the ocean of her thoughts, Faelwen routinely began to perform her duties by scuttling off to her working place. Lost in the endless pit of her own imagination and visions of the graceful healer, she failed to devote full attention to what exactly she was doing, until she attempted a light chatter with the supposed patient. Only after she had not received a clear reply from the patient for a suspiciously long time, she began to sense something had to be off. Faelwen previously noticed the patient's head had been covered with a rag which she ascribed to his poor condition, however she did not begin to doubt its purpose before realising there was an awful lack of movements coming from beneath the cloth covering most of his face. Faelwen suddenly sobered her thoughts and looked at the arch above her. It was the number of the patient Cereidon had pointed out required special care. In the end, Faelwen herself was not sure what exactly incited her to do what she'd done next, but it was most likely the pure curiosity that got the best of her. However, she was not sure the main healer would regard it in such kind way, though.

The maid took a quick swing of the head in all directions to make sure she would not be caught in the embarrassing and dishonourable act only seconds before executing it, then slowly began to unfold the rag resting on the patient's face. As she drew nearer, Faelwen noticed another sensation. The more she thought about it, the stronger it would become. It was a sharp, penetrating odour of unmistakable origin that had filled her nostrils. In that moment, the elleth knew whatever she was about to discover would result in irreversible consequences that could prove to be quite inconvenient for her. Bur rather than heeding her own inner advice, she proceeded with the move. It lasted only about a few more painful seconds before Faelwen took in a sight she would remember until her last breath and provoked a scream so horrifying that it would reach the ears of every single being currently present in the palace.

It was a matter of seconds before the strident screech reached Cereidon's ears who immediately recognised its owner. The first instinctive impulse urged him to run as fast as he could to determine the reason for such outrage, but he realised there was no use. He already knew what to expect. He tried to hide it deep in his subconsciousness, somewhere where the guilt wouldn't gnaw him every second of the day. But as soon as he would hear the devastating cry for help, it would come slowly crawling out of that black hole again. He was even proud of himself, to some extent, to had managed to remain the secret intact and safe as long as he had. Nevertheless, the time for false ignorance had now come to an end. As did the silver-haired marionette's reign.

Calaron was not wrong in his estimation of the reason for the King's behaviour. Thranduil was determined to do everything in his power to continue executing his royal obligations which included leading a nation through a time of war and crisis, regardless of the consequences it may leave on his health. This was not at all a sign of masochism, but rather a sign of being addicted to something as Thranduil was to being a ruler. It presented an everyday challenge to him, a task he was looking forward to fulfil, despite its several disadvantages. To serve people was his reason to live, even though many hastily doubted he even had a particular reason, let alone it presented something so selfless. Thranduil pretended not to be bothered with petty opinions of such irrelevant people, however he did become more and more irritated by how these opinions seemed to spread among the people. He was aware it was sometimes hard and unreasonable for his people to obey his word and to believe whatever he was doing was in the name of good for the Realm, because of his detached, callous nature. But he was starting to become rather annoyed with the fact larger groups of people spread unnecessary doubt, lack of faith, and fear into the bones of those less firm in their minds. The last thing he would want in this moment was to lose his people's support and faith when he needed it the most.  
It was no doubt that those familiar with his reign and accustomed to his character would remain loyal until the end, however he was very much in favour of getting as many young elves involved in politics as possible for this place was in desperate need of brave young minds to see the true meaning of his regime. Their endorsement would not only present a great contribution to his group of followers, but likely to his military forces as well. It was not entirely a fantasy to believe some could easily be persuaded into joining the reputable Royal Army for Thranduil would have need of as many young volunteers as possible in case of imminent war state. If such horrible scenario would indeed come to pass, he would have to be absolutely sure he could rely on the army at all times.

Thranduil shivered at the thought of being forced to declare a war state in the forthcoming future, since as of now the threat had become palpable and had ripened to the point where it was necessary to be taken seriously with the goal of eliminating it in the shortest amount of time. Being a victim of an extremely distasteful prank (as a part of the threat) himself, he now fully understood the consequences his unwillingness to take appropriate measures would bring. He should have realised it at the moment he was informed of the ellon's murder that the threat was just as real as if it were a member of common folk taking the deceased Sage's place. Only now it came to him that he should have dealt with it days ago with the same mindset he was employing at this moment. His own mistake had probably cost them a great deal of time and had won the culprit a fair advantage in the game.

Even though the leader behind this masterly executed plan would most probably exploit Thranduil's moment of weakness to his best advantage, the frail King lying in his broad bed retained his faith that he would get the last laugh in this matter. Regardless of the hopelessness of the current situation, something inside him assured him that his Realm would evade ruin. May it was the Gods or his optimistic subconsciousness sending him this wave of sanguinity, he chose to listen to the voice and dispose of every negativity tarnishing this temporary blissful state of mind.

Just as he was about to direct his thoughts into inventing new tricks to add to his scheming plan, he was disturbed by rapidly approaching light footsteps. He recognized them immediately.

"Father!" Legolas exclaimed in surprised delight. "It is an enormous relief seeing you in such refreshed state."

"Legolas, it was barely a faint," Thranduil reminded the Prince. "I would rather see the talk of this disgraceful incident stops now."

"No one has made such claims, father," the son assured. "No one would dare."

"Not in your presence," the King had made yet another point with a tired smile that revealed he in fact did not care at all about the spread of gossip. "Now, tell me what you wished to discuss with me earlier."

Prince's face suddenly turned rather glum merely at the mention of the matter he was supposed to deliver to his father. It may have been true at some point that he was most eager and anxious to report to him of what had happened during his abrupt absence, but once he heard his tired voice and noticed the shade of blue in his eyes turn into the colour of a setting winter sky, he could not emotionally bring himself to admit it to him that there had come to another incident that would undoubtedly impair his father to such extent it would push him to the brink of reason and judgement. Seeing him barely regaining his strengths after obviously being undermined by the invisible enemy (despite desperately trying to convince himself as those around him otherwise), it would be indisputably cruel to afflict him with another burden for him to bear, though he was aware it was what the King would have wanted to hear from his best warrior. Yet his heart prevailed in the end nonetheless.

"Perhaps we could delay the discussion of this dull matter to another time since-"

"Legolas," Thranduil's voice ordered, letting the Prince know it was no time for embroidery. "Do not dare to pity me. Not you, too."

In a way Legolas knew his father was correct in implying there was a hint of pity in his offer, however he still believed it was fair of him to try not cause him further pain, regardless of the futility of such action.

"I came to see you as your son, not as one of your officials. And sometimes I wish you could notice me in such way, too," his voice trailed off into the air, full of painful words that were long overdue.

"The fact that we have significantly distanced since the last feast has not escaped me," Thranduil confessed. "I know I am far too late to apologize for my past mistakes and the mistakes I am yet to make, however I would want you to realise I hold no one as dear to my heart as you, nîn ion. Forgive me for the times I have acted as though I do not appreciate you sufficiently, but know I am grateful for every second I have been endowed with to spend in your company and for occupying the most blessed position of being your father."

Legolas was not certain if the unbelievable words coming from his father's mouth at this very moment were merely a consequence of having underwent the tremendous strain, thus trusting them to be very likely uttered without Thranduil's full knowledge, or did they truly reflect how he felt towards him. He could not avoid to encourage the tiny but powerful spark of hope igniting in his mind, making his chest rise with fervent anticipation, yet he was still somewhat indecisive whether or not he should continue to do so. The days that had passed since the moment he had been waiting for those words to be finally spoken by his father went beyond his count. Could this occasion mean the beginning of his father returning to his long forgotten and buried past of being a warm, sentimental person capable of expressing his emotions?

The silver-haired warrior turned to the opposite direction of his father's face that revealed more emotion he had ever showed to him in more than a century, and that was an expression he was not yet ready to confront. Only now that his father's welcoming eyes were not distracting him from sane thinking, he realised the inevitable truth. Something must have happened to him during that collapse. Something only he had experienced and would possibly never share with anyone until perhaps his final confession to the Gods which may be thousands of years from now (for all Legolas knew his father could rule this Realm for all eternity). It was possible that he indeed uttered those words while fully conscious, but there must have been a hidden motive for it. His father would never do anything without a secret agenda behind it, however it may be that Thranduil was now a truly changed elf. An ellon Legolas kept safe in the memories of his early childhood. Was it possible that this ellon could finally come to surface again?

Then again, as reason seeped through the thoughts of an imaginary ellon Legolas had wished would have been his father, he realised Thranduil could have just wanted to prevail another quarrel between them by soothing him with the words he always used to manipulate him with. And those were the words Legolas wished to believe with all his heart, but somehow he always failed to convince himself they were the reflection of a fair, honest man. There was masterly concealed doubt for everything his father had ever done at all times, and Legolas could not neither explain it nor liberate himself from it.

"We have had our differences since… ever since you mother left us. I have been struggling to redeem myself for all the injustices I have caused you with the excuse of suffering from not having your mother beside me to appease my worries. Now I see that no matter what sort of destructive behaviour I employ in hope it would fill the boundless pit in my chest, I need to let her go. For the sake of our relationship as this Realm's future."

Legolas was left speechless once he heard those words. His mind went completely blank, the only thing filling his head was the echo of his father's raw confession. He could not so easily dismiss the fact that Thranduil had not spoken of Itheliel's departure for as long as he could remember. In fact, the reminiscence of the three of them walking towards the palace in sweet summertime was the only memory he managed to salvage of her. It was at the same time the only recollection he had of seeing his father and mother united. Little did he know at the time that it would be one of their last moments together as a family.

"Father, I..." Legolas gauchely began to express his stupefaction and finally be able to give a normal respond, but was again at lost with words which would adequately describe what he was going through. "I could never tell you how long I've waited for you to say these words to me."

Thranduil kept his eyes locked on his son's face as the latter was having mild difficulties with putting words in wanted order. Like his son, he could not deny this moment definitely represented a turning point in their recently deteriorated relationship which was now undergoing a serious and inevitable renovation.

"I must confess," Thranduil interrupted Legolas's frantic quest for a perfect response in order to supply him with additional explanation to the sudden change in his demeanour. "Although it is quite hard for me to admit my own errors as I would often wish to give the impression there are none, neglecting our relations and avoiding responsibility of rectifying the injustices I have caused you were the biggest of them all. Not a day passes me by that I do not yearn for her return, however futile and ridiculous nurturing that hope might be. I am aware my seclusion can easily be mistaken for imperviousness to matters of sentimental nature, but you know just as well as I do that it had not always been like that." Thranduil allowed himself a short break in which he contemplated about the firmness of the future sentence he was beginning to compose. "At least not when mother was still here to protect me from evolving to this monstrous form of myself that is now available for everyone to ridicule."

"Father, you are not a monster," Legolas heard himself say before his mind could stop him, maintaining the direction of his glance aimed at the wall opposite of the bed. "If anything, you were merely mending your own broken heart."

"And in those times I had selfishly forgotten I was not alone in suffering from the pain her absence has caused," Thranduil waited until Legolas slowly turned his eyes to find his father in a more emotionally vulnerable state than his current physical condition which was the cause of being tied to the bed.

As Legolas joined his gaze with Thranduil's, he was astonished at the discovery when he sensed pure sincerity, penitence, and sorrow he had never seen before in his eyes. Whether Thranduil was truly embarking upon a path of redemption and reconciliation or merely giving a successful impression of it, Legolas was willing to hear whatever he wished to say to him as sign of gratitude for the courage he managed to show.

"My mind and heart had barely evolved from a child's to a juvenile's," Legolas kept defending his father without actually having a reason for it. "I could not reasonably comprehend the gist nor the effects of her departure."

Thranduil could not for the love of Gods compel himself to turn his gaze elsewhere as he stared at his son in complete fascination. There was too much of her hidden within his gestures and movements for him to simply look away. It was as if she was speaking to him directly through Legolas; watching him through his vision, perceiving him through his senses, speaking to him through the words Legolas would utter – for a moment he convinced himself she was still just as real as his own son in front of him, merely taking a stroll around the palace this very instance and that she would return to his chambers any minute now. That she would return to his embrace.

"What's the matter, father?"

"Oh, the past got the better of me for a brief second. No wonder you are your mother's son," the King replied softly.

The Prince let out a mellow chortle, yet his eyes betrayed what his lips failed to deliver – that he was still a bit confused about father's last sentence.

"The resemblance to your mother is utterly uncanny and evermore haunts me," Thranduil began to answer Legolas's unspoken question as he readjusted in his position. "In every word, I can hear her call. In each glance I notice the spark of her essence reflecting in your eyes. No matter where she'd gone or if the Gods would ever grant us the mercy of her return, _you_ are her greatest legacy. You are the reason her spirit persisted, merging our souls as if they were still as one. And you are what shall always connect us with her, regardless of where she may have found her peace. She wouldn't have wanted for us to continue to fight like this."

"You truly believe so?"

"With my every breath and beat of my heart," Thranduil offered him a heartfelt smile that masterfully hid the cracks behind his expended veneer of serenity.

Legolas returned the kind gesture, before deepening into his thoughts once again. It had been so long since they last openly spoke of his mother's disappearance in a way that would not end in a disastrous feud, leading to several weeks of silence before they would provisionally forgive each other only for the sake of political matters that demanded both of their presences in the same room (a rather challenging task on its own). Bearing this fact in mind, it only added more confusion to the already baffled mind of the Prince. It seemed as though Thranduil had exploited all means in order to convince Legolas this truly was a confession of a changed man, and he could not deny a fair amount of courage was used to carry out such action.

Legolas came to the realisation that their apparent truce was solely contingent upon his decision whether or not he was inclined to agree to his suggestion. Deferring to the said suggestion would require impossible of Legolas; or at least something he did not think he was ready to give away that easily. To achieve the purpose of indelible peace between them, Legolas would first have to forgive Thranduil everything he had ever done that made Legolas bear him ill-will, including the very cause of their argument that had been ongoing ever since the Prince escaped to the woods to seek the serenity he had failed to show in that fight with his father. Indeed, this was the opportunity for both of them to show they cherished the well-being of the Realm and valued good relations over feeling resentments against each other. While the Realm's future was in vulnerable and indefinite state, there was no time to embolden their personal misunderstandings but rather a chance to show those in doubt that they _were_ capable of concertedly leading the Realm to a happier future and that they deemed it worthy enough to swallow their prides for it.

"In any event, what tidings were you so eager to deliver?" Thranduil broke the silence which had engulfed both the chamber and Legolas's mind.

Legolas barely managed to collect his thoughts and focus on Thranduil's question after being so distraught over what he heard just minutes ago. "I'm afraid they are of rather gory nature."

The Prince's response awoke every fibre of Thranduil's body that had yet not been awakened. "Which makes me even more insistent to hear what this is all about."

"Yesterday morning my fellow guardsmen and myself went for a regular patrol around the centre of Mirkwood when we stumbled upon a gruesome discovery of which the Council has already been informed. In addition, this morning we have received a report from one of the maidens who was on duty in the healing chambers who claims to have a patient missing," the Prince explained hesitantly. The last thing he would wish to happen right now was to disturb father's hardly conquered vitality with unsolicited news.

"I can't see how an apparently delusional patient who has gone wandering about the palace could mean any harm to us?" Thranduil doubted. "An unnecessary and most unwanted inconvenience, that much is certain, but a threat?"

"That is the same thing I asked the maiden, only then she explained to me that was the exact thing that bothered her," the Prince hurried. "She received explicit details of the patient's current state which said he was admitted to the chambers almost a year ago with a severe injury to his spine. He was to remain a cripple all his life."

"Are we familiar with the patient's background, by any chance?"

"Supposedly, he was a vagabond who had received severe wounds from a regional battle that he had attended further at the North when he was entrusted to the healers during last winter. His name is Blydd Falastur. We've already sent a raven to Dale, his alleged origin, to determine his true identity."

"What was the purpose of him staying with us for as long as he had?" Thranduil wished to know. "Why hasn't his true identity been verified at the time of his arrival?"

"The healers' reports suggested he'd endured irreversible damage to his spinal cord, therefore he would never be able to stand again. Naturally, he was asked if there was anyone he would wish to notify of his state to which he replied there was none. He expressed the request of spending the rest of his numbered days here, within the secured walls of the palace," Legolas explained to the baffled King.

"And the healers decided to concede the request without consulting any officials, let alone me, who could offer an impartial perspective on the matter, ultimately deliberately neglecting the law?" Thranduil continued to wonder.

"Father, I am sure-"

"Do not attempt to defend their actions, Legolas," Thranduil rapidly cut him off. "The law provides clear instructions in relation to welcoming foreigners into our lands, let alone allow them to stay for as long as they please. The results of such careless act could be devastating."

"I am merely saying that-"

"I've stated my mind," the King repeated his previous insolent gesture. "If there is nothing else you'd wish to add on the matter, I suggest we inform the Council to hasten their search. Also, before any actions are taken, I would first wish to speak with the maid myself. I expect the issue to be resolved quickly and elegantly."

"Unfortunately," Legolas yielded to the King's will, consciously ignoring his father's harsh words, to proceed with new information that needed to be passed on to him, "there _is_ more."

"Why, continue," the King insisted.

"Our reportedly missing patient has not vanished without leaving a trace behind," Legolas added. "At first the maid did not notice anything unusual about her morning routine, however she did say she was appointed the task only that morning, until she arrived at the patient's bed."

"Which was empty, that much I've managed to assemble, thank you," Thranduil interrupted, growing rather impatient.

"That's the thing, father," he said dramatically. "It was not empty. Instead, the maid found yet another incinerated body. The main healer who arrived at the scene shortly after, failed to identify the victim, but he assured us it was not the patient, hence the maid's report. I am deeply sorry."

As Thranduil continued to absorb one shocking information after another, his breathing function slowly began to lessen in its effect. During Legolas's last sentence, his breathing pattern was barely noticeable. The weight of the tidings his son had brought to him crushed his lungs into nothing more than a tiny speck remaining in his chest. His head was spinning from lack of oxygen delivered to his brain that was now filled with meaningless words. The only thought that had prevailed in his mind was asking for purpose of all this. What sort of crime had he committed that was so precarious, so reckless and senseless that the Gods had decided to punish him with such cruel come-uppance? And was he ever going to find that out?

"Do not apologize, Legolas," he was finally able to speak after initial shock had settled down, "you were merely doing your job. This is most unfortunate news indeed. Who else has knowledge of this?"

"Only the First Sage, myself, and now you. I have made sure the word does not spread beyond the walls of the Council."

"And for that I am grateful. I would ask you to maintain the discretion until we've properly discussed the matter with the rest of the members. I would need to speak with the healer, as well," he said tiredly, before redirecting his look back at the Prince. "And the first news you intended to break to me?"

"There has come to another incident. In the woods, near the spring of the Enchanted River," Legolas obeyed his father's order. "As we were nearing the mountains guiding us to the spring, one of the guardsmen noticed a presumably whirling smoke of what we later discerned happened to be an arson. We immediately changed the course towards the source of the smoke. In a matter of minutes we found its origin. It was indeed an intentionally caused arson that was able to destroy everything within a radius of few kilometres." As Legolas dramatically disclosed the news, he observed the King if the said had afflicted him with any kind of discomfort or hardship. But not much to his surprise, Thranduil seemed all but in a state of discomfort. If anything, he even showed signs of abhorrence towards hearing the evil had not ceased with its unacceptable method of displaying its superiority.

Out of nowhere, Thranduil began to feel inexplicable wrath rising within him. His chest suddenly lifted from the blanket in which he was resting, the tired bones of his fragile body regaining the lost strength. Unsurprisingly, his mind was filled with thoughts of revenge; a bloody revenge that would ruin this inexorable force of evil. However, Thranduil was yet to show how inexorable _he_ was prepared to be when it came to defending his land. And in pursuit of this goal he was prepared to use any means necessary.

"Father, are you alright?" the King heard his son speak. His blank look met Legolas's eyes which reminded him of his current position.

"Perfectly all right," was his reply.

"I'm saddened to report there is more to the news." Legolas was almost afraid to continue but his conscience dictated him to act accordingly to his duty. It is what father would want anyway. "When we arrived at the scene of where the ignition took place, we found one of our own maethyr hanged on a single tree in the middle of a circle of birches, bearing an inscription which read as follows _'Epholao o l_ _í_ _n_ _úgerth, o baudh tolath'._ It is believed both crimes were carried out by the same culprit, including the incident in the healing chambers. What sort of deranged being would execute such acts?" **(Beware of your sins, your judgement is coming)**

Falling speechless after hearing the terrible addition to the dreadful news, Thranduil hardly pulled himself together to return to cruel reality. "One we have to stop as soon as possible." Thranduil sighed as fully concentrated on the news he'd just been delivered. "Take me there first thing tomorrow," he asserted. "I ought to examine the area myself before we devise what our next move from here shall be."

"Wise idea, father, although I doubt the healers would agree with your proposal," Legolas stressed.

"What the healers think is surely on the bottom of my list of priorities at the moment."

"I doubt you would state the same for the Council," the Prince outwitted him. "They tend to heed the healers' advice, in case you wouldn't."

"I am not under any obligation to ask for permission nor approval from anyone, especially not the Council, and you know that just as well as I do," Thranduil hissed, tired of hearing the same reproach over and over again. "If we are to bring this evildoer to justice, we must always be two steps ahead of him. There is no time to play by the rules for he sure does not."

"By all means, I am entirely on your side, father. It is simply the question of how you are going to convince the Council of the sudden turn of your condition that worries me."

"Leave the Council to me," Thranduil confidently assured him. "The Council is the last thing you should be worrying about. I'd sooner you gather the group of guardsmen you went on the patrol yesterday morning to escort me to the scene first thing tomorrow. And Legolas," he suddenly changed the tone of his voice. "I trust you to stay discreet in this matter."

"Of course, father," Legolas ensured him and began to stand from Thranduil's bed.

The Prince was just about to ascend the stairs leading towards the exit of Thranduil's chamber, when he froze in place for no particular reason. In fact, that was not entirely correct. Perhaps there was a reason to his sudden halt, but he was not aware of its meaning or purpose. It was as if something had ordered him to stop his movements for that aforesaid something might have given him a reason to believe this conversation could not had been fully concluded. Or could it?

"Why have you suddenly changed your mind about mother?" he spoke as he turned around unpredictably, still lingering on the stairs, halfway towards the exit.

"What made you think that?" Thranduil scoffed apprehensively.

Legolas let out a sarcastic chuckle, declaring the obvious, "The way you speak about her." The Prince let his eyes wander around the surface of the chamber's floor. "As if you've truly decided to let her go."

Thranduil began to open his mouth to spit a response that would dispirit his son enough to avoid continuing this agonising conversation, but the words escaped through his lips without having the courage and strength to utter them. He simply blindly and vacuously stared ahead, coming to terms with himself and with the fact that his son might have been, in the end, right. And it frightened him, to say the least. Undoubtedly, many years had gone by since she ceased accompanying him through his journey as a monarch. However, in a dark corner within his endless mind – she still existed. There she'd kept track of his deeds, whispered words of encouragement, guided him through his decisions, and occupied his thoughts during the murky hours of the night. She had given him a sense of presence that could not be so easily dismissed, regardless of her physical disappearance. She would keep reminding him that there he could still count on her profound wisdom, selfless aid, and endless love, the things she'd provided him all those years when they reigned happily, without a care in the world. Without a single thought indicating a tragedy such as the one that had afflicted the family could ever occur.

Reminiscing the words she had told him during his blackout, it only now came to him that they might carry a message of their own as well. It was only a matter of interpretation that would reveal their true meaning. Although Thranduil feared he already knew their meaning without having to analyse them in detail. This, too, frightened the living soul out of him. Could it be that what she was saying was in fact announcing her final departure? Could it be she was _asking_ him to let her go?

In order to answer Legolas's questions he would first have to deal with those gnawing at his soul to which he was not possibly able to answer. In order to provide Legolas with an adequate response, he would first have to sink into Itheliel words deep enough to let himself discover the hidden message within. Thranduil was certain he would reach that point of courage somewhere in the near future; he _had_ to or else it was assured he would lose sleep over it at night. It was now a matter of wanting to solve this conundrum behind her message and wanting to finally allow her to find eternal peace whatever the location she was currently confined to.

"I shall always carry your mother in my heart. Parting from her afflicted me with a scar that would never heal unless I heal what is damaged within me." The King looked up to meet his son's gaze. "It is time to exterminate the poison out of the wound. And to heal a wound, one needs to stop touching it."

Thranduil knew such reply would be a lot for Legolas to take in. Being exposed to such talk of his departed mother meant enormous emotional exertion and pressure. Speaking of lost ones was naturally a delicate, sensitive subject, bound to evoke a series of both pleasant and painful recollections. Despite knowing this conversation could take a whole other turn, Legolas was certain this was necessary in order to revive father's old character. Even if it meant slitting a wound wide open with the aim of finishing its final stage of healing process.

"I see," the Prince uttered.

"I do not expect you to understand the background of my decisions, yet I will gladly accept any support you are willing to offer me."

"My support is always at your disposal, as you know," the Prince hurried. "Though I cannot claim I am not surprised to hear about your new views on… how she bade her farewell."

"Her sudden departure was a great loss for the entire kingdom, even more so for our hearts. An irreplaceable loss that shall never be forgotten. Nevertheless, I must stop it from devastating it any further. It is my duty as a King that I should prevent such event from occurring. And trust me, doing that with a wounded heart would not make it any easier." His words were cold, yet his voice soft and calm. "In order to heal my wounded heart and therefore heal my wounded kingdom, I am determined to achieve anything to secure that peace."

As Legolas let his father's words sink in, he came to realise there was nothing but mere respect left for him to give to his father. Despite the truth dominating in the composed sentences was hard for him to accept, he was aware that father hadn't spoken so much sense in an alarmingly long time, so it was both invigorating and reassuring to see his father regaining the strength he'd lost during uncountable years of ruinous solitude, prolonged lamentation, and obduracy that had been a part of his daily routine for so long it had grown to become an unsolicited part of his character. In all the chaos Legolas had already lived through alongside his father, there were rare moments where he would find himself consciously agreeing to whatever madness the King would propose. For the first time in all those years Legolas actually saw purpose and benefit in his suggestion. The Prince was left with no option but approvingly welcome the change that had settled in Thranduil's mind.

The Prince slightly bowed in respect of his father's reasonable decisions to indicate he had finally come to terms with his standpoint. After all, being able to find peace and faith within him was something Legolas had long waited and hoped for, and any objections would now be unavailing and misplaced.

"Arrange me a meeting with the Council and the witnesses as soon as possible, would you?" Thranduil requested merely seconds before Legolas would finally exit the chamber. "This matter is currently our paramount priority."

"Certainly, father," Legolas replied, adding "now at least try to rest for a little while longer. I'm sure the Council would be thrilled to see their renewed king with fully restored strength."

"I am thankful for the worry, whereupon I advise you to do the same," Thranduil returned the gesture in a lively mood, then changed the tone of his voice to an entirely different shade. "A storm is coming. One we all ought to be prepared for. The Kingdom is about to face drastic changes in its core, and it is upon us that we deliver it safely and with as little damage as possible."

Legolas merely nodded in reply then made himself scarce to let his father find the promised rest. However, as the sound of his footsteps became more distant with each step, Thranduil sunk deeper and deeper in the whirlpool of his thoughts and ideas. The received news awoke a wrath so immense and vast it was evident he would find no rest within his soul until he searched every last bit of this woeful Earth to punish whoever had the audacity to inflict such unforgivable suffering upon his people. Thranduil seldom made a promise for which he estimated would not entirely benefit him. But whenever there was forthright threat directed at his people, no special effort was needed in order to persuade him to accept certain decisions. He made a decision a long time ago. He had given his word to his people long before there even was a threat upon which a measure had to be taken. A promise of safety and retaliation, a promise he intended to keep. Now, the time of need had come. And he was more than willing to fulfil that pledge.


	12. Chapter 12

**Since December is the month of giving and forgiveness, I am finally giving you the next chapter (long overdue, I know) in hope you will forgive me for the late update :D**

 **Merry Christmas to all celebrating!**

* * *

Chapter 12

It had been two extremely vulnerable weeks since the occurrence of the tragic murder, yet an abundance of peculiar incidents had already started to stir the flimsily balanced and hardly restored peace kept in the palace. Not more than a week ago the inhabitants of the Woodland Realm had been tackled with the arrival of two quaint-looking foreigners whose appearance was free to interpret by the inhabitants' wild, limitless imagination which was bound to doom themselves as well as any chances of renewing the newcomers' stained reputation. And merely days ago, the great King Thranduil received a report of most disturbing nature that his land had been tarnished in an unfathomably brutal way. The news of the tumbling of the pillars of once most abiding communities must have by now reached the ears of those residing even in the furthermost lands in the West beyond the Misty Mountains. Bearing in mind that acknowledgement, the King and his closest entourage were justifiably beginning to feel anxiety and concern creeping upon their necks, painstakingly choking more equanimity out of them each day. For if one were compelled to speak honestly, in the war that was inevitably bound to ensue there was no time for appropriate patience or careful deliberation. The only possible way to achieve victory in this war was with formidable force, hard-hearted strategy, and relentless will to defeat the evil that had shamelessly descended upon their lands.

Fully recovered from the recent bizarre encounter with the same creature that threatened to ravage everything he held dear, Thranduil was now in full function of devising canny new ideas with which he could ultimately completely defeat the enemy. In fact, he was not able to indulge even in light sleep ever since he'd been informed of the newest progress of the enemy's plan due to disordered mound of thoughts piling up in his head, eventually depriving him of sleep with each new hour. It was nothing unusual for the leader to lose sleep over worries about maintaining the stability and health of his Kingdom, however this occasion in particular troubled him more than any other before, excluding the previous great wars he still fought alongside his father. Of course, this current event was not the first threatening situation he had faced after his father's demise; Thranduil was in fact quite experienced in that department. That was the very reason why he deliberately chose to neglect his natural impulse for rest and direct his remaining energy and time into something that might aid him in finding the best solution for this progressively irritating problem.

However, the more he tried to convince himself it was merely a slight inconvenience, the clearer it had become to him that he was simply comforting his distraught conscience and confounded mind, securing them from comprehending the brutal reality of the situation. Normally, he did not, could not, allow himself to sink into the depths of self-pity, comfortable masochism, and tempting apathy, even though that was the direct order of his inner impulse. It had become a regular habit for him to neglect that impulse on daily basis simply because it was an extremely naive and reckless thing to do. His own duty represented something which required strength that could not be found in an ordinary person. It was, after all, a divine mission bestowed upon the leader by the Gods themselves, and the Gods' will should be both respected and obeyed. Through all the years of his rather successful reign with as little disturbances as possible, Thranduil had strongly maintained his faith in the supremacy of the Gods that had been guiding him on his journey ever since he had ascended the crown. He intended to continue to nurture this habit of his for he believed the Valar were undoubtedly on his side in this time of great crisis. In the war to come they needed all support they could gather.

On this veiled morning the swift autumn wind already carried the sharp cold of forthcoming winter that grazed against Thranduil's high cheekbones, creating an even more sombre image of his current expression, as he was leaning his palms against the cold marble of the balcony that had belonged to a chamber he once shared with his wife. His head of silk silver hair that was once held high proudly and brashly was now humbly hiding in the width of his broad shoulders which, too, had now considerably sunk. Long, soft locks did not fall on smooth surface of heavy, embroidered capes as was his usual guise; instead, his figure was completely swathed in dark garment of black brocade that managed to cover him all the way up to his elongated neck to his skinny wrists. With this outwear he was hoping to express the right amount of appropriate grief without people constantly peeking up to his face, making irritating inquires about His Majesty's well-being as if their curiosity was entirely pure and uncorrupted. He desired to achieve silence for which many continuously felt the need to interrupt with even more unproductive, superfluous words that were simply a waste of air, according to the great King. Despite the fact that the recent events had undoubtedly caused some tumult in the Kingdom, silence was at the moment his most valuable tool to achieve the desired prolific state of mind to think rationally and wisely. The last thing anyone would want at this moment were reckless actions of an impatient leader, too eager to determine the result of a war that had not even properly begun.

As he was resting his hands upon the stone of the balcony, Thranduil's eyes wandered across the captivating vastness of the mature fields and plains, whose shimmer had been stolen by the gloominess of today's morning; the ancient timber that had provided the Realm with indispensable material throughout all seasons; the lively, bright flow at the junction of the Enchanted and the Forest River; and lastly, his gaze stopped at the spiked peaks of majestic mountains boasting directly in front of him, and the King could feel the malicious shudder creep upon his back. Not much further South, beyond those mountains, lay the source of all his recent woes and fears of what would become of the land he was supposed to be protecting in case all should, in the end, fail. His anxiety suddenly intensified as he thought of the potential calamity that could spread, and for the first time for a split second his fears were not limited strictly on his own land. For a brief moment he succumbed to the pressure of calm composure he had been maintaining for an admirable amount of time now, and allowed his thoughts to visit the deepest, darkest corners of his mind he wished to avoid by all means. This was a place from which he would not return the same. The Elvenking was a man of caution and reason and most of all – aware of the consequences of such reckless behaviour. This situation was no different from any other, it bore an entire burden of consequences. However, he chose to continue with this exploration anyway, which meant he did not intend to suffer those consequences.

Thranduil had been so absorbed in the flood of his thoughts that he was completely taken by surprise when he heard a voice behind him say, "Hîr vuin, it is time," which belonged to one of the officials, reminding Thranduil of the duty he was compelled to fulfil today. He could not deny that an unknown force, settled somewhere deep in his muscle tissue, wished to prevent him from stepping any closer to the exit, but the desperate look on the official's face ordered him to see through this horrible obligation that couldn't be postponed any longer.

"I will join you shortly," the King replied as he indulged himself to take one last scan of the land whose fate had from now on been lain in Gods' merciful hands. The calculating eyes that usually schemed most intriguing plots and schemes now warily took in the last sight of peace they should see in quite a large amount of time. Thranduil could only pray to the mighty Valar they could shorten its length by their best abilities.

The Elvenking left his chamber shortly after this last notion, hastening his pace to arrive timely to the meeting place with some of the members of the Royal Elven guard who would then take him to the scene where the terrible atrocity had taken place. With a reasonable, yet steady walk he ascended the main stairway, a decision which didn't do him any particular favour in terms of his melancholic mood, and which he immediately regretted once he began to feel scolding gazes crawling upon his sleeve. He tried to shake of the unpleasant feeling by diverting his attention to the matters awaiting him beyond those great gates, but failed once the inspecting, curious gazes turned into degrading hisses of derision and contempt. _What has become of my people?_ he wondered sadly as he continued walking down the stairs with his head bowed in defeat. _What has become of_ me? The last question couldn't have been avoided even if he'd tried. He couldn't avoid the feeling of guilt that had started to stir within him; the guilt of failing to protect his nation, of allowing things to develop as far as they had, of becoming a laughing stock.

But just as he was about to dive into the endless abyss of misery and cursing the unforgiving course of fate upon which he'd embarked against his will, he realised this moment was an example of a situation every devoted leader feared would once catch up on him. Despite the blatant fact that the wicked spirit might have gained the first advantage and obviously had full access to Royal army's assets (as well as shamelessly exposing that fact right in front of their noses), Thranduil arrived to an invaluable discovery. Regardless of how devious and conniving the Shadow's plan might be, Thranduil was still counting on one advantage the Shadow could never take away from him. The Realm's dire _need_ for victory. What essentially drove the nameless spirit to carry out such audacious threats was most likely impulsive reaction to its unsatisfied thirst for domination, power, and influence. Even though the Shadow's actions might quickly seem hasty and foolish, the mastermind behind its strategy was far from inexperienced. The stealthy manner the plan was carried out was something Thranduil couldn't help but admire and respect; it was not often someone would easily break into their defences and literally cause such bedlam to prevail in the Realm. However, once being liable to a threat as destructive as war, the plan lacked one crucial trait. The true hunger for defeating the opponent, in Realm's case the evil which had caused them so much pain, and finally overcoming the despair that had been stealing the happiness of the Realm for far too long. What Thranduil was counting on that would ultimately bring him triumph was the sloppiness and carelessness of Shadow's army as well as valour and fortitude of his own.

Suddenly, the King, overwhelmed and overburdened by his thoughts, felt a gentle brush against his right arm to later find a familiar figure standing next to him.

"I am sorry to trouble you, my Lord, but the guards are waiting," Calaron said quietly with a noticeable hint of compassion and understanding in his voice. The Sage had a peculiar, yet useful knack of knowing what sort of words were needed in specific situations. This ability of his was also deeply appreciated by the King himself, especially in the moment when he needed support and trust.

"Thank you for the reminder," Thranduil replied, perhaps underestimating the seemingly harsh sound of the uttered words, however his eyes emitted appropriate gratitude. "Is everything prepared for the departure?"

"Some of the guards have already left to meet us at the scene, while others stayed to wait for your presence to escort you there."

Thranduil nodded in response and continued with his slow pace, now with the Sage by his side who carefully studied His Majesty's movements in case he should notice but a small, trivial details in his reactions which could later prove to be quite of use in clarifying what lead to Thranduil's often whimsical, eccentric behaviour. In fact, Calaron noticed it had become such a frequent pattern that the constant subconscious surveillance of His Majesty's mental health had grown into a regular habit.

"What of the father's mysterious item?" the King asked then, leaving Calaron in complete shock and stupefaction that such subject was currently occupying his mind. "What has happened with it?"

"After the unfortunate event," the Sage began explaining, "it was returned to its place in the armoury where we abode by additional safety measures. I must call attention to the fact that the soldiers are becoming rather anxious about it. They are wondering about its origins, its meaning, and the reason it has been brought in the palace. Should we give them more reason to fear its potential power?"

Thranduil paid close attention to what Calaron was saying to receive full answer to his query, until Calaron decided to drift from the topic of the discussion once again. The mighty elf scoffed at his words before answering with his eyes focused on the path ahead, "If we ever chose to heed every maethor's preferences and discontentments, we'd run out of servants."

While Calaron had justifiably expected to receive an incisive reply from his King that would not indicate a trace of ambiguity, he was still crushed to hear such cold words from him on the matter that should have supposedly represent an important issue amongst his short list of priorities. He understood His Majesty's point of view, even agreed to it to some extent. Nonetheless, he couldn't help himself but let a few moments of disappointment paint a picture of chagrin across his features. After that, he concluded it would be wiser to encourage the King to increase the pace to reach the main hall in time to proceed to the duty.

Despite being given an extensive speech from Meatherion about remaining faithful to the etiquette of behaviour when presented to and enjoying the company of their King, the maethyr, especially those freshly acquainted with the strict regulations of their profession, permitted themselves a short gasp of amazement when they set their eyes on the majestic being descending the stairway. It was not often they were granted the privilege of experiencing a closer interaction with the King or merely admiring his lordly appearance from afar. In those rare moments of appreciating their divine leader, they dismissed all previous perceptions and assumptions of his character for they were now able to form their own opinion premised on what they managed to discern and observe. Of course, an infrequent smug boast about having met the King themselves had appeared here and there.

The King glided down the meticulously polished and sharpened stone stairway, his depressed gaze jumping from on maethor to another as if he were evaluating their competences and aptitude based merely upon that one glance. The completely still, upright line of Royal Army's finest warriors maintained its united expression of serenity and focus which Thranduil inwardly applauded and commended, however he still regretted the reason for them to gather here today.

As he drew near the arranged unit, he took a quick, yet risky look to the companion on his right who was methodically counting the steps beneath his feet, his expression intentionally unreadable. Thranduil continued to persistently stare at his counsellor, determined to recognise a flaw in his veneer he'd been so keen to uphold, despite being aware of the fact deciphering false fronts were his speciality in which he took exceptional pride. It would have been flagrantly obvious to a completely ignorant and oblivious man that something had been on the Sage's mind. So far, the King was allowed merely a wild guess as to what could have possibly been going on in his mind; but knowing the Sage and his tireless tendency, the range of his thoughts could measure as far as from remembering the spices used in his breakfast this morning to conspiring a highly classified and precarious mischief. Regardless of Thranduil's wish, his detestation could not diminish the truth of it: as much as he excelled at cracking feebly appointed masks, Calaron was a master of disguise when he decided to turn into one.

As a King, he possessed the right to question his lieges at any occasion he desired; even if that meant at most inconvenient and inappropriate occasions such as picking a moment before marching to the scene of the occurrence of the revolting crimes. The powerful leader was aware that these options lay open right at his palms, ready for him to exploit them if need be. Perhaps it was the very availability of those opportunities that somehow prevented him from employing them this instant. Or perhaps it was that deep down he already knew the answers to each questions he would pose to his comrade, and that he was covertly afraid to be exposed to hearing those answers out loud, confirming his fears all along. How was he expected to successfully lead a Kingdom through the threat of war if he was not even capable of organising his thoughts in the sense that would give him a feeling that he at least had some control over the current course of the events?

"We've been expecting your arrival for quite a while, my Lord," Meatherion greeted the ruler with a hint of concealed reprimand.

"Pardon my delay, mellyn," Thranduil responded to the detected remark. "It was not in my intention to keep you waiting. Shall we?" he indicated towards the exit with a soft movement of his wrist.

At the sound of the suggestion made by the King, Calaron's features instantly scowled as if the Sage had just thought of an embarrassing memory of the far past.

"There is one more thing I feel obliged to inform you of, my Lord," he heard himself say instead of remaining silent, sparing the King the knowledge of a matter that would most likely cause tumult in the monarch's mind. However, his duty dictated him otherwise – to share the recently conceived concern who was, after all, the main subject of it.

"Although I am positive there is no need for me to chew on the matter that has already been corroding our brains of late, I believe you ought to find this news rather expedient," he whispered as he leaned closer to His Majesty's towering frame. "Word has finally spread across the borders of our Realm. My most trusted, classified sources claim it has also reached the ears of the White Council. Apparently, they demand urgent report of the stability of our current conditions and call upon a meeting to which you may respond within a fortnight. They are quite insistent, if I may add."

"Insistent they may be as they wish, I will grant them that much audacity they had already chosen to employ," Thranduil replied, "but if they choose to desecrate my land but once, I shall instead of a formal reply send fully equipped army to their borders. I am curious how they would choose to interpret such reply."

Naturally, Calaron was in a predicament how to respond to Thranduil's words in a manner that would not directly suggest that he either approves of them or disagrees with the notion of violence altogether. Even though it was expected of him to follow any path his King would outline for him, Calaron had already begun, as usual, to form his own opinion, hoping Thranduil would accept it as a generous word of counsel.

"Crushing an ancient alliance with violence is not our best nor sole option at the moment, if I may say so, my Lord," the Sage advised. "Why don't we rather choose to settle this in peace and reflect on alternative possibilities to arrive to a common agreement as to what should our next action be?"

"You've always played a great part of reason and wisdom in influencing on my decisions, Calaron," Thranduil sighed in a manner Calaron was too terrified to explain. This was one of those horrifying moments of complete insecurity and blindness where he could either become Thranduil's trusted ally or a sworn arch enemy. "And you have not failed to assist me once. But when it comes to defending my own country and its prosperity, I believe its safety belongs to the hands of those who lead it. I will not acquiesce to the bidding's of a council consisting of outsiders who have yet not had the taste of the evil purging freely and unbound across our lands. In my heart, I know what I have to do. And I will not degrade myself or my Kingdom to the point where I would decide to accept aid which would only serve as a cover for those eager to seek political advantage from our desperate position."

"Accusing a highly respected council of taking advantage of our situation merely to provide themselves a better seat from which they would observe our Kingdom fall is not very advisable," the Sage warned.

Not Calaron nor Thranduil could sense the tension that had begun to grow among the waiting soldiers who were keen to see through their duty without complications, therefore providing their King with perfect assistance. However, as it is known, things like bad atmosphere and panic tend to spread like wildfire, and so their effect were easily contagious and potentially destructive. Among those who felt the atmosphere had clearly changed was obviously Meatherion himself, who noticed his soldiers' nervous movements and inaudible chatter. As he quietly moved along the line of the soldiers, the whispers and mutters would die along with his accelerating steps. After a few intense seconds, he arrived at the end of the line and could hear the two of them almost completely accurately.

"I am not accusing anyone of anything just yet," Meatherion heard the King defend himself. "But their intentions are clear to me. All they are waiting for is for me to make an error upon which they would establish the idea of justifying their actions as they would invade the Realm."

"Do we really have the means or the time to bother ourselves with gaining yet another enemy? Not to mention the fact that making an enemy of the White Council would not improve our situation, it would worsen it," the Sage insisted.

"I have no desire to meddle with their affairs or to see them meddle with ours. The last thing I would want is for a foreign community to sow fear among my people when they have absolutely no right to," Thranduil objected.

"However, they do have the right to meddle with _our_ affairs since their duty is basically to preserve the early-found peace and good all across Middle Earth, including our lands," Calaron reminded the leader, despite knowing it would not bring them on common ground.

Calaron sincerely attempted and almost could understand the reasons behind Thranduil's reluctance to accept the fact that the White Council's intentions are of pure nature and that they intend to persist with their plan to see them through. Their authority and influence reached beyond just their Kingdom and it was about time Thranduil realised this or else they should lose precious time in forming their strategy, not to mention become short of a strongly valuable and desirable ally.

Just as Thranduil was about to claim once again that he was being correct in this matter and most likely support the idea with reminding the Sage of each other's position, a third person interfered in the heated conversation that would undoubtedly reach a whole other level of fracas and indecency if that person hadn't intervened.

"My Lords, we are all set to examine the scene of the crime," Meatherion's voice announced once he arrived in the middle. His wide frame posed quite an inconvenience between the tall elves, especially when those opposite each other refused to reposition themselves and continued to stare at one another at a rather close distance.

Calaron's gaze remained fixed on the ruler whose face stood cold and still merely inches away, and waited for his reply, while Thranduil offered the soldier a stare he wished he had not provoked. After a few seconds of extreme uncertainty of what was to happen next, Thranduil was the first to break off the tension between the three of them. His defensive pose loosened and his expression softened which calmed down both Calaron and Meatherion who feared what their King's escalating wrath would lead to. Being exposed to its effects previously in their careers was reason enough to send chills down their spine each time they were confronted with a situation like this.

"We shall continue when I return and I hope you will come to a reasonable conclusion," he ordered the Sage and then directed his ice cold eyes to Meatherion, "after you."

Without offering Calaron an opportunity to utter his last words before they venture out to the tarnished territory, the King swayed passed the Sage's eyes who stood as if glued to the ground as he watched the two of them leave towards the Great Gates with a line of soldiers following their steps.

All the poor, defeated Sage was left to do was helplessly observe their determined movements while he was forced to stray the empty corridors, alone with the flow of his thoughts constantly flooding his mind. Torn between obeying his ruler (which was his official duty he had sworn before the Gods centuries ago) and obeying his conscience, Calaron became more irresolute and wavering with every passing second. Both decisions were equally hazardous; both brought their own ruinous consequences. But what was more ruinous for _him_? Defy the orders and will of his leader or fall into disfavour of the White Council and its leader, Lady of Galadhrim?

As he let himself be overflown with benefits and disadvantages of both options, his unerring sixth sense and invariable instinct brought him to an optimal resolution, and after a brief estimation he concluded it to be the most convenient decision.

Once he arrived back to the Hall of the Ten of Sages (where he sorrowfully remembered the tragic demise of one of his colleagues; the scar had only begun with its painful process of healing), he summoned one of the servants to his side and ordered him to fetch him a piece of parchment and a quill. When he returned with the required equipment, Calaron asked him to stay until he finished writing the letter which was mere minutes later.

The Sage extended his arm towards the servant standing next to him in complete confusion (which he masterfully disguised as he was taught by his mentors. Tending to the needs and requirements of the Council was in fact a lot more stressful profession than it appeared to be), and said: "Tie this message to one of our fastest ravens. Make sure it reaches Lothlorien today."

* * *

The palace usually provided the guests brought in under the King's wing with heaps of comfort, pleasure, and security, always striving and hoping to surpass its reputation of being a poor and reluctant host. However, the recently arrived guests had (yet) not had the chance to enjoy or even be presented with such delightful and promising benefits. There were a lot of conceivable reasons for them being deprived of the mentioned luxury. For example, with the Realm preparing itself for one of the most dangerous and monumental wars it probably lost focus of their guests as well as the endeavour to achieve the desired reputation. It was understandable certain things became paramount in these vulnerable, precarious times that were ahead of them, while others lost their importance and drifted on the bottom of current priorities.

Still, when Aireiel and Edenir had not heard from the King or any of his appointed retinue in a surprisingly large amount of time, alternative ideas began to spring in their minds. Everything was becoming strongly equivocal and suspicious regarding their stay; even the maids they occasionally came across were highly mysterious about the current situation in the palace. Even though the two of them were privy to the fact that some sort of threat was lurking and loitering about the Elvenking's lands, they weren't entrusted much of anything else. And it was safe to say the two of them were becoming justifiably paranoid of what else was to come, especially if they continue to keep them in the dark about it.

As the morning was indolently drifting into the noon, the flaming redhead and her father were casually strolling one of the many tortuous corridors near the Hall of Justice were (as many still ardently believe) cruel injustice had been made. One would imagine that after King's announcement of Realm's involvement in some dark dispute, the whole palace would go mad of worry and would aimlessly wander the halls and corridors in order to either clear their mind or find the last piece of solace and comfort they would be able to afford in a long time.

But things turned out to be unravelling completely differently. With all the fallow time at their disposal, the two of them managed to ramble to every available corner of the palace and still find no sign of any disorder or bedlam whatsoever. What confused them even further was that there were no people on display either. The entire life of the palace had apparently completely vanished along with its supposed inhabitants. Naturally, there were still guards and heavy equipped soldiers protecting the main entrances and significant areas such as the ancient library and the Hall of the Ten of Sages, but the number of them had considerably shrunk, with the exception of perhaps intermittent saunters of small troops whose presence obviously caused some anxiety to stir in the hearts of those who happened to pass them by. Were they intentionally trying to frighten them, giving them a reason to fear for their future? Or did they simply fail to attempt at providing them with peace?

Regardless of the reason and if its goal had been achieved, each individual tended to interpret the threat of war in their own way. Some thought of its purpose as meaningless, pernicious, and voracious manner of gaining influence whereas others found their own purpose in the state of war. Fighters, warriors, leaders, and heroes are born in the time of war; they arise from the prayers delivered to the Gods, and the Gods themselves are their very creators. It was on the verge of ridiculous how the people who worshipped and chanted the names of the same heroes would dishonour and spit on their noble deeds that they seemed to have praised during the time of need. For in the end, everyone craves war. Those who wish to be saved from their own woes and agonies are eventually rescued, and those who seek eternal glory are immortalised in the image they are discovered in when they exhaled their last sigh as they fought to their final breath.

One could claim Aireiel was an unhealthy combination of both versions. While others dreamed of reaching the impossible objective of engraving their names alongside the champions of the Woodland Realm in the Corridors of Prophecy where their many accolades lay with the sole purpose of securing power and exaltation for themselves, Aireiel strived to become one of those famed warriors for the sake of her people and community. Where others sought their equality among the Gods (and eventually failed to do so), our flame-haired heroine's sole intention with the Gods was to earn their mercy in order to plead for a fair and justified future for her people. After all, the Gods were known to pay more attention to honest bids, no matter how inappropriate or clumsy, rather than feigned loyalty and hidden agendas. And most of all – a pure heart that should remain pure and untarnished even through darkest of times.

"For how much longer shall we roam these empty hallways?" Aireiel whined when they arrived to the main stairway for the third time today from a different direction which seemed to have kept father in good spirits, unlike herself.

"Be patient, my dear," he replied in an unusually light voice. There was even a trace of soft chuckle in between his words. "I am sure the Gods have prepared an important role for us to play in this muddle," he assured as he turned to her, a spark of faith glowing in his eyes, warming his features. "Otherwise, why else would they have kept us in here for as long as they have?"

Aireiel sometimes envied her father his endless trust in the Gods. After all they had dared to put them through, after all the suffering, pain, and bitter tears he still managed to maintain patience and hope that in the end the Gods would perform as fair judges. This was the point where Aireiel had to disagree with his logic. She continued to worship the Gods as she was taught during her upbringing, however she could not respect them. She condemned and at times even despised their decisions and their sense of morality upon which those decisions were supposedly based. All she was able to absorb from their actions was that there was no separation between devoted, virtuous believers and apostates with guilty consciences who have exploited the good name of the Gods in order to perform bad deeds. And what had Aireiel learned from that notion? That the Gods choose to punish them all the same. They all, in the end, merge with nature as one.

Was this a sign of a forsaken believer who had been abandoned by their own religion? Hardly. Merely a person whose sad turn of events had carried them away to the darker side of religion; on a journey not many embark upon and return the same. Indeed, a time of war posed a grave challenge to every committed believer. Crossing onto the darker side of one's religion also enabled the believer to observe their Gods in a different light for the true power of the mighty Gods revealed itself in the cruelest forms of life; it showed in the splash of blood on the battlefield, the raw instinct and emotions of the warriors when exposed to the brutal ways of the divinity, the clash of heavy swords covered in red paint and the shameless drive racing through the dirty metal that induced the fatal thrust towards another one of Gods' beings. All of these things represented the negative clout the wrath of Gods could cause, and in a way the Gods even took flagrant pride in their ability to create such a bedlam among those helpless beings. But the most unimaginable things occurred on the behalf of the love they sowed upon Earth as well. Nature's true reflection was most visible in the times where their love was exercised in order to allow the good to prevail over evil.

With the purpose to rest her head from all the worries regarding their current position in the Realm's social system, Aireiel tried to focus on the only alleviating thing present at the time – the look of her father. The elleth managed to put aside every single drop of negative thought once she remembered one crucial detail about this exceptionally intriguing journey they'd set out upon: that she would always have her father by her side, regardless of the trials the Gods had prepared for them. Even though there was a danger of falling, she was not afraid of the fall if it was her father's embrace she would fall into.

"Where are you taking me this time?" she interrupted the comfortable silence after a while, upon which she added jokingly, "You seem to walk these hallways as if you knew them by heart."

Edenir let out another one of his light chuckles, yet it differed from the one earlier. This one indicated a hint of grief which Aireiel could not understand for it was caused by something Aireiel had no knowledge of, and she'd come to realise that as soon as Edenir could not immediately provide her with an answer to such straightforward question. Nonetheless, she somehow managed to tame her curiosity once she noticed Edenir was finding it hard to bring his words to life.

"In fact, I once did," was his reply a few moments later which left Aireiel in even bigger confusion then before.

"What do you mean?" she inquired with her eyes wide open, hungry to unravel this mystery.

Edenir sighed in frustration from which Aireiel deduced that the subject was no longer wanted in this conversation. It did dawn on her at some point that she could employ the usual useful strategy of her persuasive mannerism, but she decided to let this one work out on its own. Naturally, it infuriated her to see her own father hide something potentially important to her, and to have her sense of morality and decency stop her from initiating her inquisitive side. Though that did not stop her from forming some questions inside her head that would perhaps prove to be quite useful once father opened up to her. And that happened a lot sooner that she'd expected.

"A very long time ago, when your mother and I were merely beginning to get adequately acquainted with each other, our families were invited to attend a festivity hosted by the great King Oropher himself," he began with a sentence which predicted a story full of excitement and anticipation. "Do you recall when I recounted you the story of how Amalondeth and I met?"

"Of course I remember, how could I not?" Aireiel assured him, hurrying, "but, father, how could you have kept me from knowing that?"

"I understand that you are upset," Edenir admitted, "but walking these corridors roused a lot of painful memories, too painful for me to comprehend them at that moment, let alone explain them to you. Perhaps the delay of our visit has not turned out to be so bad after all," he said and teased her daughter with a quick wink. Knowing she would immediately object and protest against the notion he had indirectly just brought up, he continued: "Onward with the story. I am right in believing you still wish to hear it?"

"Of course, adar," she smiled in return and took in the full sight of her father with her youthful expression.

"If I am to properly divulge the information about that night to you, I might as well start from the very beginning, correct?" to which Aireiel responded with a simple, enchanted nod.

"Well, the Gods were surely present that evening for they blessed us with a night full of brightly gleaming stars, shattered across the sky like sparkling diamonds spread on soft, blue velvet..."

 _..._ _The night was full of brightl_ _y gleaming_ _stars, shattered across the sky like sparkling diamonds spread on soft, blue velvet. It appeared as if the entire land was under an enchantment_ _the_ _stars had cast upon their common followers. However, they would come cast an entirely different enchantment upon a pair of most unexpected individuals, binding them in a most uncommon, unfortunate, and wistful union ever to happen under the guardianship of the Valar._

 _T_ _wo highly respected and influential_ _houses_ _of Lothlorien's society were granted the opportunity to take along their most precious and cherished_ _family_ _members they deemed worthy to present to the nobility of the Woodland Realm._ _Since_ _Amalondeth_ _and Edenir had both just entered their first century and, along with that, reached the optimal age to begin to enjoy a new life in the higher class society, they qualified as perfect embodiment of the spirit of both of their families. Naturally, they were chosen and allocated the privilege of arriving to the feast as honourable guests._

 _However, despite the fact that the honour the two houses received was unparalleled and consequently_ _enabled the gain of the_ _reputation throughout the spread of the merry news, the two honourable guests were in fact entirely oblivious_ _as to which other family would they share the honours with. It was common in the tradition of this very specific and exclusive event that the two families should officially meet on-site, where they would continue to spend the night in amiable spirit of becoming more familiar with each other. Little did both of the families know that the two honourable guests they took so much pride in had already met once in the far past where their paths were undoubtedly jointed by the odd and unreasonable twist of fate._ _Except their were not yet aware of that._

 _The soon inseparable couple had commenced with their journey to the Elvenking's Halls a day before the event itself. After their arrival they were immediately escorted to their appointed premises, where they were asked to stay until the first phase of the event should begin to unravel. It was safe to say, the rules did not apply to all of the family members._ _Amalondeth_ _and Edenir_ _decided to explore the exciting unknown area as soon as they dropped their belongings, however,_ _as was_ _the will of the Gods, their paths were not meant to cross until their_ _alleged official introduction._

 _They say the stars align only a few rare times during the year such as Mettare, Yestare, and Enderi which were known as sacred days in the Elvish tradition._ _But the Gods appeared to have abandoned the veneration of those traditions on the occasion of the introduction of the two young elves for the only reasonable explanation of the events of that night was to claim as if the two fell victim to the magic of the enchantment of the stars._

 _T_ _he scenery of the feast itself was by far the most exquisite and impeccably adorned the families of both Sindar and Silvan descent had ever seen. The high pillars of the dining halls were decorated with colourful ornaments whose patterns were brought to live by the rich flame of the floating lanterns attached to the cave walls at each pillar, and the entire palace oozed and flowed with almost tangible aroma of alluring scents, echoing laughter,_ _swift movements,_ _and dangerous stares._

" _Nin muin ara_ _Oropher_ _,_ _allow me to introduce you my beloved daughter, Amalondeth of house Augthanil," Amalondeth's father's deep voice announced as he waved his hands towards his daughter's figure._ _ **(My dear King**_ _ **Oropher)**_

 _W_ _hile the great King Oropher indulged in an excruciatingly lengthy stare of_ _appetence_ _and admiration_ _of the elleth_ _(most likely the same despicable_ _combination of_ _characteristics Thranduil had apparently inherited from his father), Edenir's family was present throughout the entire procedure of the introduction of the first family,_ _and even though the only thing that ought to go through his head at that moment was how he was planning to produce the best possible impression in front of the King, his thoughts (as well as his eyes) were directed somewhere else entirely. With the amorous expression that had settled on his features he dived into the captivating aura Amalondeth's presence seemed to have created. There was something intangible, yet irresistible about the elleth standing diagonally to him, he discovered. His heart tended to skip a bit each time his senses would detect her limbs shift, and he couldn't help but wonder if she felt the same about him. Edenir was known for his realistic aspects on several matters in life; that was also one of the ways that secured him an esteemed position in his local society. But there_ _was_ _no education known to any kind in Middle Earth that could have prepared Edenir for what he was currently undergoing. There was no special training that could have_ _ever prepared him for the ultimate challenge every edhel would sooner or later face: the encounter with love._

* * *

The landscape within the borders of the Woodland Realm had altered radically since King Thranduil's last visit to this part of the region. With each additional step, Thranduil could feel disappointment, wrath, guilt, and disgrace boiling inside him, and even though he would give anything in the world to avoid experiencing such horrible sensation, deep down he admitted he deserved every bit of it. Along with that recognition, he also acknowledged the fact that he'd been facing a war inside his mind as well. An interminable battle between the fuming rage as an aftermath of constant reminder he had and was continuing to fail as a competent leader and the civilised, composed side of him. The tempting and inevitable merging of these two sides was drawing near like opposite sides on a battlefield, racing towards each other and inexorably towards a fatal collision.

Thranduil could not even dare to predict how severe the casualties of such impact would be, but he was aware it was bound to happen sooner or later (in this case, he much preferred sooner rather than later). And yet despite that crucial recognition, he was inclined towards evading the consequences of it which might have saved him a lot of time if he'd done it much sooner. In that time, when the whole Realm was expecting him to do one thing, he had failed to see, he had denied the truth, and eventually refused to act upon the fundamental discovery. Perhaps the Gods had prepared him the ultimate trial for him to prove his worth, and he'd in time managed to disappoint them as well.

Once they arrived to the disreputable location, Thranduil shivered at the mere sight of the deserted land which had obviously been a miserable subject to the implacable torment of the Shadow's servants. Even though the terrain in these parts was particularly dry and barren, its current state extended even the lowest expectations. There was no sign of any form of life whatsoever, the grass had been torched to the ground, and the entire surroundings were completely obliterated, not leaving behind even a slightest trace of previous existence. As they marched through the damaged land with their backs crouched and shoulders bent, the burnt remains of either flora or dirt crackled under the weight of their steps. The cracking sound of the ravaged life tore the soldiers' souls apart. The fact that they were now stepping on the only remaining vestiges of the life once relished did not help either.

"All right!" Meatherion's voice suddenly echoed across the land and arrived to his troop of soldiers who obediently turned their gazes towards their commander. "You shall split into three small units of no more than four individuals and scan the location's surroundings. If you notice anything suspicious, make certain that you report it to me in due course. Ego!" With the ending of that command, he turned to his King and caught his stare.

"Would you like to take a closer look at the scene, my Lord?"

"Show me where this filthy atrocity took place," the King replied with obvious contempt and disgust as he followed the Lord Commander further to the left.

The location where they were headed now was the only spot within the radius of few kilometres that hadn't been deprived of its entire flora. There were around a dozen skinny birches spared from the horrible arson that had clearly ruined the rest of their family. The closer the two of them got, the more Thranduil could discern the birches (despite their emaciated appearance) formed a perfectly round circle whose content in the middle was the main attraction of this vicious crime.

The poor victim's body had naturally been removed in order to avoid unwanted arrivals of one too many scavengers that were still residing in the more remote parts of the hills nearby. However, all other evidence had remained untouched and intact for Thranduil to examine. For example the note that had been carved into the wooden sign which was found hanged around the victim's neck. Thranduil entered the circle and walked towards its centre with strange anxiety and angst accompanying him. Although this time he had decided not to give in so easily to their effects. He felt he owed at least as much to the deceased soldier who had most likely died believing he had been of great service to his King and the Gods. And Thranduil was determined to not let the soldier's sacrifice to have been in vain.

He picked up the unharmed sign and inspected it with his wide eyes. It would be a complete and utter lie if he said he was not distressed and disheartened by its message, despite the fact he had been aware of it ever since Legolas came to convey the report, therefore been able to prepare for the harsh reality of seeing it in person for the first time. But nothing could have ever prepared him for what he was experiencing now. Repugnance, reluctance, and furious rage merged into one simple emotion of boundless desire for unsparing retaliation for those who had caused his Realm to start to crumble from within. Only seconds after the birth of that deadly thought, he could feel light drops prickling the exposed skin on his face and around his neck. He would usually be bothered by the irritating sensation, but this time he did not mind at all. No current weather condition could overcome the whirling storm inside his mind.

"Do not take it to the heart too much, my Lord," Thranduil heard a calm voice advise him from behind. "The more you shall occupy your mind with this drivel, the more it will consume you from within. And that would signify victory of the Shadow."

The Lord Commander now joined Thranduil's side, his eyes fixed on the sign the King was holding in his hands. Previous soft dribbling droplets turned into heavy rainfall which now poured on their figures. They both respected and preserved the silence that arose for a brief moment to consider the weight of the recent events. Even though the two weren't closest of companions, Thranduil appreciated this experience regardless of the circumstances that enabled it.

"This shall be the final message the Shadow dares to deliver on our soil," the King finally announced. "It has to end now."

"I completely espouse your approach," Meatherion agreed. "However, if you don't mind me asking, how do you plan on defeating a foe so advanced, so devious? Is there a way we can waylay it without it anticipating our moves before we even enact them?"

"There is always a way, my dear friend," Thranduil assured him. "We shall do so by attacking it where it hurts the most."

"And where that might be?"

"At Dol Guldur."

* * *

While the King and Lord Commander examined the terrain not more than three kilometres from the palace, another powerful duo joined forces but at a different location which was subterranean. For the first time in more than two weeks Legolas and Tauriel managed to put their past grudges behind them and exchange a few kind words which eventually lead to united archery practice in the training areas under the palace grounds. The generous and friendly gesture was obviously sign of much needed and missed reconciliation. Once they shot their arrows together at the same time, the conversation easily developed almost immediately.

"How is your father coping with the current situation?" Tauriel asked as she released one of her own arrows which arrived to its destination in centre of the target not more than a second later.

"He has been on the verge of a breakdown for over a week now," Legolas admitted. "I'm not sure if I will be able to simply stand and watch it ruin him any longer."

"Does he not allow you to collaborate with him?"

"He does to some extent, but as quickly he realises his mistake, he retreats from the conversation," the warrior explained, "I can feel there is something he is not telling me, I can sense something has been bothering him, and it pains me to know he doesn't consider me worthy enough to confide in to."

"Perhaps he requires a little bit more time to confess his doubts to you, the person he fears he shall hurt the most in the process of it," Tauriel advised.

"You and I both know this is most likely the excuse he keeps convincing himself with instead of admitting he has no desire to include me in his political affairs," he disagreed. "Besides, he has taken up too much time. Around half a millennium of it," he added sarcastically.

With that sentence the Prince fixed a slim arrow on his bow and irately released it soon after. The arrow hardly managed to hit the line of the outer circle of the target.

"Legolas, nin mellon, îdho," the elleth soothed which only infuriated him further. **(Legolas, my dear friend, relax)**

"Tauriel, you have no idea what it is like," he exclaimed, "to have your own father intentionally renounce you!"

The moment he'd uttered those words, he grasped the meaning of the sentence, but Tauriel had already turned her back to him and focused on mending the fletching on one of her arrows to hide her swollen eyes from her closest friend. She was not aware she would ever have to be forced to do something absurd as that (since she'd openly exhibited emotions lots of times before), at least not due to such reason.

"Tauriel, forgive my deplorable insolence," he tried in vain to win back her attention. "I should not have let those words slip so carelessly without considering the casualties."

"Oh, spare me the pity, please," the elleth spat and in that moment Legolas became aware of just how truly he'd hurt her. "I've gotten used to become a casualty to reckless decisions."

With each word, her voice became darker and lower, as if a certain force overcame her which indeed it did – shame and chagrin all at once. Legolas rarely saw her expose this side of her to him, despite the fact he was the closest thing to a confidant to her. In those moments, her mind was far from the composed, disciplined one upon which she was admitted to the Royal Army, and she was ashamed a side like that still even existed in her. But then she reminded herself of the sincere and warm bond that had woven between the two of them, and that the only possible way to continue to nurture it and strengthen it was to hold onto it when she found herself falling, knowing Legolas would be on the other side to bring her back to life.

"I should be the one to apologise," she uttered once she was convinced the redness in her eyes had vanished. Then she turned to him. "I should be able to accept the fact he is not returning for me by now."

"You mustn't blame yourself for his departure," Legolas took upon the role of the adviser. "He should have realised his loss the moment he let you go. It is not your fault he was unable to see that."

"I keep telling myself that as well, but how come I still hopelessly await his return?"

"You must find it in your heart to forgive him and yourself," he said, stopping for a moment to realise just how easier it was to provide advice to someone rather than obeying it. "Our kind has been bestowed with abilities Men can only dream of, but revisiting the past is not and never will be one of them."

"At this moment the only ability I wish to own is forgiveness and appeasement," Tauriel cried.

"Perhaps you would find some consolation in shooting a few of those?" Legolas invited her closer to the training area and offered her a handful of black arrows.

"Oh, you do know me so well," she smiled, grabbed the arrows, and Legolas's heart sang of joy once again.

Not more than an hour later the King and his large retinue arrived back at the palace, empty handed and dejected. That did not apply entirely to Thranduil for he displayed an entirely different attitude compared to the one he employed when he was escorted to the scene of the crime. His face was not covered in loose, baggy wrinkles which visually aged him for another couple of centuries; his skin was tense and smooth except at the part between his thick eyebrows where a single wrinkle of fierce determination was formed. Anybody who would dare to cross his road at this particular moment and witness the fury stirring in his eyes, would react as any normal person would be advised to act – to make way for the King on his battle march.

The arrived group hurried through the Great Gates and then split into two directions, some would veer towards the underground quarters and other would follow their King towards the Corridors of Prophecy, unwitting of his intentions. In fact, the only members of the second group were the King himself and Meatherion who could barely keep up with his swift pace. It was not long before Meatherion started to question the meaning of this venture.

"What is so urgent that requires such haste, my Lord?"

Thranduil did not flinch nor stop for a second, replying: "Send for Calaron right away. I will be waiting in the chamber."

Usually, that information would suffice for Meatherion to go and search for the person the King asked for, however this time he was especially confused as to what was actually going on.

"May I ask the purpose of the meeting?" he inquired, already prepared to change course.

"If we are to start a war, we must prepare for it accordingly," Thranduil paused for the first time since they returned from the scene of the crime, and looked his companion straight in the eyes. "For it shall be the calamitous war this Realm has ever faced."


	13. Chapter 13

**It has been a shamefully long time since the last update and I am more than aware of it, I promise. However, the mixture of a bit of writer's block, packed schedule, and the long hours of naps I took instead of encouraging my writing, can result in something like this. But still - here it is: full of drama, new incidents, and angst as always!**

* * *

Thranduil's arresting figure was making its way through the west wing of the palace towards the Corridors of Prophecy with such daunting haste he could crush a giant if it would stand in his way, therefore it was quite difficult for Meatherion to keep pace with the livid ruler. Lord Commander was both exhilarated and frightened to see the King in such condition, though he was growing to become more and more bemused as to what it might result in. It had been a long time since he'd last seen Thranduil so determined about something. Even though the Realm had been relishing in golden peace for a laudable amount of time, it did encounter several conflicts during Thranduil's reign, and even at those occasions he managed to remain composed and callous when forming appropriate battle strategies.

This time was much different. This time Meatherion could notice a certain degree of ferocity in his eyes, a drive so brutish and feral storming inside him which manifested in a gloomy, surly appearance Thranduil had been displaying ever since he received news of the incident unravelling one after another. Meatherion was not usually the one to encourage the development of feelings and emotions which, one could say, was an effect caused by the long-time service in the military profession. However, in this situation he found himself experiencing tremendous apprehension for his ruler who had become a close companion to him during the years, and Meatherion tended to allow himself occasional leniency of having a spot soft for those close to him, and even in this case the apprehension was solely based on the perspective he obtained during the service. And as if the recognition of the fact that this feeling had now settled in his mind for an unforeseeable future, a strong urge arose within him in that instant that ought to express this anxiety he had been experiencing which was an awful inconvenience for someone who had committed and adjusted to the life of suppressed feelings.

However, he had also consciously committed to the life of offering selfless and loyal service to the King which meant sharing every single piece of doubt he might encounter that might benefit the King's reign in any way, though he failed to see how formulating an opinion referring to the King's nature would eventually affect the mentioned problem. Being in the presence of his whimsical character for quite a long time now, Meatherion feared his altruistic act would most likely result in more damage than good.

Before the Lord Commander was able to make any progress on this confusing matter, the towering figure ahead of him, which he had been following with difficulty for good five minutes, suddenly halted and caused an almost unavoidable collision. Meatherion managed to evade the embarrassing interaction just in time due to his swift reflexes.

Thranduil held the position for a few short seconds, and then, much to Meatherion's surprise, uttered: "Aireiel, Edenir, how convenient of you to cross our path. Would you care to join me?"

The guests were just as baffled as the Lord Commander who was staring at them with utter disbelief and confusion which continued to linger in his mind after Thranduil's most recent mood swing at the arrival back at the palace. He then redirected his attention towards the guests and slightly lifted his head once his eyes met with Edenir's.

"You have excellent sense of timing," the Lord Commander joked. "I have forgotten how much of an asset it proves to be."

"Believe me, I could not have prevented it if I tried," Edenir replied, equally jestingly, as they carried on with their way.

"May I ask what is going on?" Aireiel intervened not a second later. Her head was spinning from the brutal intrusion and still trying to adjust after being disturbed by the King's sudden appearance.

Meatherion was aware that he should proceed with caution if the two (especially the young one) should pose too much questions since they were not privy to all facts regarding the most recent incidents. It was still a shock to think they were already involved in the initial murder affair, although Thranduil's feebleness prevented the elleth from imposing any preposterous suggestions. It concerned Meatherion that the elleth had adapted rather quickly to that role; the role of willingly reacting to King's calculated goading and giving the impression of actually _enjoying_ to do so. Knowing the King for many years, Meatherion imagined it to be yet another one of his silly games he liked to play with mindless, naive beings like her. It simply pained him to foresee the outcome of that game and already observe the victor's celebration.

"I am still trying to work that out myself," was his ambiguous response as they all joined in a horizontal queue behind their King.

The two puzzled guests were out on a limb as to what sort of event set fire to Thranduil's hasty step; they could only speculate the seriousness of that event, and hope it wouldn't spread and infect the already glum populace beset by the threat of an approaching war.

They had, on the other hand, spent a substantial amount of time around the King's presence to know that whatever caused to agitate him to the point where he would run clueless about the palace should be taken with absolute urgency. Little did they know the King was anything but clueless in that very moment. In fact, there was a guilefully formed plan that was currently occupying his mind, and the pressing need to reach the chamber as soon as possible for the matter had escalated to the point where its consequences could no longer be postponed.

The route the King chose to arrive to the wanted destination was entirely unknown to the youngest of the group, since she had never seen such filigree and obsolete ornamentation in the palace or at least in the parts she'd visited so far (which were, to be fair, not so few). At the side of the carved stairs, accompanied by a long, continuous wooden path made of a rosewood trunk, were scenes her elven eyes had never captured before in her life: it was a meticulous handwork art which represented the daily routines of the Silvan Elves such as the conduct of the Realm's commerce, genre scenes of the elves cultivating their land, and most of all their love and worship of the nature surrounding them. It was not merely the motif and the theme that attracted the elleth, but the actual age of the paintings, which must have dated far back into the Second Age, presumably before King Oropher's time.

Throughout the entire time of Aireiel's admiration and amazement of the frescoes she had just witnessed, she'd become more and more aware of her love of art. And it suddenly pained her to even imagine the condition of these designs as the aftermath of a potential destruction currently knocking at the palace's gates. The young elleth felt an undeniable urge, which started to invigorate her entire being; the urge of righteousness. All of a sudden it felt as if being exposed to the beauty of the ancient elven art burdened her in an entirely new manner; as if she herself was responsible for its preservation.

Perhaps she felt so attached and connected with it because, for some reason, it may have reminded her of the beauty they had left behind in the forsaken lands of Lothlorien, and the thought of abandoning such heritage encumbered her with a completely new purpose: to consecrate (despite the fact that it was not her battle to fight at all) the last bits of her energy and effort to at least salvage Woodland's legacy as a poor subconscious compensation for failing to save her own.

By the time she managed to fully return to reality, the group had already entered antechamber leading to the secret room ahead, and her curiosity was not at all satisfied nor cooled down; in fact, it was even further fueled. Once they came into the room, they found some of the seats had already been taken by the members of the Council which meant the circumstances in which the meeting was held had reached a critical point.

When they arrived to the familiar wooden table, there was no usual official greeting or announcement to be heard from the King. The only thing the King let intentionally slip through his carefully masked expression was a stolid crescendo of pure acrimony and wrath he barely managed to constrain.

The crowd occupied the seats they were assigned in the previous meeting that was held here without further ado. Suddenly, the entire audience was aware of the reason of the urgent summoning they were all involved in. The newcomers were both frightened and nervous as ever, however even those with more experience in this area realised the whole thing was a lot gloomier than they'd expected. And if they were able to acknowledge that on their own, they could only imagine what was going in Thranduil's head at the moment.

The King sighed and turned his head to his left shoulder before deciding to speak to his audience.

"The last time we visited this chamber in this exact number and composition, our meeting was invaded by the malicious spirit we are trying to defeat," he begun. "It sensed my weakened spirit and assaulted it as quickly as possible to disable me from carrying out the crucial meeting we were forced to rearrange. But as much the invasion dampened me, I return stronger. And prepared."

The spoken words attracted the attention of everybody in the room. The intense spark in the King's eyes let them know he meant every single word of it, and it was also the reason they kept closer attention to what he intended to say next.

"From what I have seen today in the woods I can conclude the situation has progressed to another stage; a stage where we can no longer afford to merely discuss the possibilities and potential strategies but in fact enact them. It is upon me to decide which ones have the priority according to the situation we are facing. We have heard many promising suggestions in the previous meetings, however I believe we all agree it has come down to one in particular. Mostly because we are left with no other choice."

Hardly a few days ago there would be audible discontented sighs and laments to be heard in protest to such suggestion. But this time there was only deafening silence, adding additional weight to King's heavy words. Everybody shared the awareness there was no other way to change the position the Realm had found itself in but to announce escalation of the threat of the war. Except this time it was the Kingdom that was forming the next attack.

"My proposition is to form an offensive aiming directly at its source, Dol Guldur," Thranduil uttered in a calm, yet confident manner no one could object nor argue at that moment. It was announced with such formality some could not even believe it was the _Woodland Kingdom_ they were discussing about but some other, distant region, not in any way relevant to their homeland. Morbidity and anguish darkened their minds once the realisation seeped in that it was, in fact, _their own_ land the Shadow had targeted. The more they let it consume them, the more they understood they could no longer afford any spare minute to waste it on self-pity and misery; that sort of thing was reserved for the public.

The announcement was followed by a question: "Are there any objections or grievances against the proposition?" which had also first gone without a response that could only be understood as silent agreement.

As the silence progressed, so did the realisation of the obvious: it was exigent the Council and its advisers compose a strategy for the upcoming offensive in shortest amount of time as well as in absolute secrecy. The instant even a mere whisper would leak through these walls it would set off another wave of chaos consuming the palace from within and cause most likely irreversible catastrophe everyone wished to avoid.

While everyone was busy organising their own thoughts in piece, Aireiel was still undergoing the process of comprehending what had just been said. Even though she was rather pleasantly surprised to see her suggestion was taken into consideration, she was at the same time quite frightened of what repercussion the endorsed proposal would lead to. One of the many things she remained uncertain of was the question of their involvement in the war; whether or not their presence at this meeting was intentional and whether they were required to fight in the war as well. Those could be considered products of needless paranoia, however each time she would experience this sort of feeling something bad would follow. This time she was already aware of what was to come, however the magnitude of the entire situation remained to be seen.

* * *

The intricate labyrinths of ancient woods which not long ago people still marked with the name of Eryn Galen, were ravishing in the weak sun beams and absorbing what was left of the little light they were allowed before the early dusk would soon cover the surface in its chilling grey cloak. With the winter fast approaching and along with it the threat of freezing everything above the ground, the area that received the largest amount of the late afternoon sunlight was absolutely swarming with all sorts of large, colourful insects and most peculiar beings the nature had ever created. Even vegetation seemed to have extended their thick stems in order to let as much light as they could through the skin of their leaves.

At the juncture where so many forms of life poured into one and flowed in seamless balance, there was one person who was fortunate enough to witness this occurrence every day. Radagast the Brown had been surrounded by nature and renowned as its protector ever since he was chosen to be one of the Istari to come to Middle Earth on the date of 1000 since the beginning of the Third Age, and was assigned to deal with the affairs of various folk dwelling in Middle Earth. However, he turned out to be little concerned with the affairs of Men and Elves, but was far more erudite in plants, birds, and beasts of the forest. Being engaged in nature's own processes and also being exposed to its brutal circumstances several times, he was justifiably marked as Mirkwood's personal watchful guardian; there was not a single movement in the forest he could not sense as well as an incident he would let slip pass him, therefore the strange occurrences of late unravelling in the South of Mirkwood naturally appeared on his radar as events of most alarming nature.

As he crossed the Gladden Fields and entered Mirkwood at its West side, he observed with great caution the transformation the forest had been undergoing since the ending of the summer and detected several upsetting manifestations of the harmful process. To a negligent, inexperienced eye the transformation ostensibly appeared as natural consequence of the passing season, however there was far more to it than that. The withering flora and erratic fauna may have seemed as if they were merely adjusting to the early conditions of the cold winter ahead, but in truth they were preparing for something unthinkable. They were preparing for their obliteration.

It would be an unjust understatement to say Radagast was mildly alarmed by the state he was inspecting; there was unspeakable rage simmering within him and reprimanded that little amount of self-control that managed to prevail him from unleashing that same rage upon those who had afflicted his forest with this abominable disease. There was a strong sense of self-preservation also guiding and encouraging that unbearable feeling of anger, but it also helped him convert it into something more productive and effective than simply destroying the evildoer. It helped him understand he could never defeat the culprit on his own, even though he did possess a great deal of wizard power in that slanting stick he never let out of his sight. It brought him to the realisation that in order to provide the reprisal he thought the culprit deserved, it was necessary for him to form his apprehension into a reasonable argument which could potentially draw the attention of a figure far more influential and powerful than him. In that instant, it was crystal clear to him what his next action should be.

Radagast immediately changed the course of his usual reconnoitre and directed his pace towards his humble abode Rhosgoble on the river Anduin. But he did not venture entirely alone; a small flock of blue-and-violet birdies, a young buck with his antlers still covered in velvet-like fur, and a pair of honey badgers joined him on his path of determination to notify the world of the forthcoming danger already poisoning their fresh soil.

* * *

"It is decided then," the King's voice declared. "We shall execute our offence strategy on this day sennight. Since we have come to this conclusion mutually, I assume we shall all equally contribute to the realisation of this plan." He then took in the sight of the audience in front of him (the combination of the Council, Lord Commander, and the two strangers) which fueled his mind the same way the taste of fine wine had its effect on a lonesome heart; it gave him a sense of purpose, strength, and most importantly – hope; it made him momentarily dive in his activism the same way a drunk temporarily escaped the ruin of his own person.

"It is crucial we acknowledge the fact that we face extremely difficult, dark days. In those days our minds tend to drift to corners buried deep in our minds where we seek haven and comfort. But do not let those tendencies trick you! There is no safe haven in the time of war, no refuge where we might take shelter. In the time of war our minds and bodies are constantly depressed by a large force of fear, doubt, and weakness. But remember: courage is not the absence of fear but rather the ability to face that fear and triumph despite the setbacks it might produce. That, my friends, is the mentality necessary to employ during the time of war."

Even those most eager to oppose the method of violence could not feel a tingling of adrenaline and optimism across their skin. In moments such as these, it was evident why Thranduil was their chosen king and the preferred ruler of the people: his unwavering commitment, charisma, and faith managed to bring out those same qualities in people who had lost faith in this world as in themselves. It was indeed a rare trait to come across in a person, yet indispensable in a leader.

Somehow even members of the Council, with Calaron on top, gave the impression of not coming up with anything tangible to object the proposal with, which was a clear evidence of the success of the speech and the strategy itself. It was clear from previous occasions that the King heeded the Council's advice from very rarely to never at all, but one might assume too quickly and consequentially erroneously that he paid no respect to their judgement; that was of course false on every level. Thranduil was far from disrespectful towards their beliefs, quite the opposite – he was very fond and appreciative of their unparalleled wisdom. He was simply an elf who preferred to obey the voice of his reason and heart, a combination that seemed impossible to some, yet natural to others. And in such cases it was obvious how sometimes a combination like this appeared to be the most reasonable one.

However despite the mainly positively charged atmosphere, Aireiel and Edenir were probably the only ones genuinely sceptical about what had just been discussed or rather, announced. The likelihood their lives would end by the hand of the Realm's authority had drastically lessened, but the opacity of their fate remained just the same. Nothing had been solved despite the many promises the question of their future shall be settled in the next few days. But those days had passed, and by the time their anxiety and uncertainty should diminish they had only increased. It had seemed as though the two of them were included in a disarray of much larger scale than they'd initially anticipated, and the more they saw it become even further complicated the more they both experienced an intense urge to simply escape it all before the threat, which was spreading like wildfire, would engulf them in its flames as well.

In the last moments given to speak one's doubt about the presented strategy, the tense serenity was disturbed by the intrusion of the person Aireiel most feared to confront during her stay in the palace, but equally burned to rest her eyes upon; another combination which Aireiel absolutely detested and rejected.

The Prince's abrupt entrance clearly interrupted everyone's collected reflection of the King's motivational words, and therefore earned looks of utter disfavour. Once they realised who, in fact, entered the chamber in such indecorous manner they returned to their quiet contemplation and internally chastised themselves for devoting rude glances to the King's son himself.

Legolas then dashed across the chamber, his case of arrows bumping against his muscular back (an observation obviously made by the blushing elleth sitting opposite the King), to whisper something unintelligible to his father. A few words were exchanged between the royals until the conversation was terminated by a swift nod from the King with a worried expression clouding his features. Legolas took two steps back to seclude from his father as well as the exposed position he had found himself in. The exchanged words were meant in earnest confidentiality and supposed to remain that way. But before Legolas could dwell any further on the matter, his father rose from his seat, gaining everyone's attention as was the purpose of this unanticipated action.

"I'm afraid this is where I must announce the meeting has come to an end. There are urgent matters that require my presence, which is why the meeting is prematurely adjourned. At this moment, all I can assure you with my word is that the Realm has entered a war far pass its due. I recommend we prepare for it accordingly." After that he muttered a faint apologize and rushed towards the exit, the sound of his clicking boots being the only sound occupying the room.

Just before both of the royals would exit the chamber and head towards the East wing, Aireiel managed to catch Legolas's forearm, which was rather difficult to grip due to it being still covered in the protective shield he'd forgotten to remove from the training earlier. To Aireiel's surprise, he immediately responded to the sudden grasp as if he'd been expecting something peculiar as that to occur.

The second his captivating locks swayed in her direction she moved closer to his side (which left him in utter shock), saying: "Have you completely forgotten about us?"

His already uncharacteristically widened eyes expanded even further, clearly dilated pupils exposed directly in Aireiel's sight, who failed to notice the crucial sign of his sincere vulnerability and disarmament.

"What about us?" he confusingly replied to a question he'd obviously completely misunderstood.

"My father and I, naturally!" she exclaimed outrageously, once more not paying attention to Legolas's behaviour.

"Oh, naturally, of course," the Prince hurried, realising the fatal consequences of his blooper, which, due to Aireiel's astounding ignorance, perhaps won't come to realisation. Or at least he had hoped so. "Hold on, what exactly do you mean by 'forgotten'?"

Aireiel released an impatient growl and explained further to the oblivious ellon before her. "What does this all mean for my father and I? Haven't we earned our freedom yet?"

Legolas, now fully focused on Aireiel's growing distress, noticed the apprehension and sadness in her hazel eyes he felt obliged to terminate. "Everything is going to be in order, I promise you."

"Do not make empty promises on things you have no intention of keeping!" she scolded him suddenly, a bit too harshly and loudly than she'd intended to. She released the grip she used to clutch Legolas's arm with and continued in a more collected manner, suddenly ashamed of the unwanted spill of emotions. "As you know, my father and I have gone through one war already and we wanted it to be our last. Undergoing another ruinous war would be the end of us, I can feel it. I cannot imagine what is going through my father's head this instant, but I need at least some form of consolation which I can use to soothe his worries, I beg of you!"

As if the shock of the unforeseen movement of the elleth who was standing in impertinent proximity was not a heavy load to be processed on its own, the swift change from heated words (in which he could not help but detect a rush of fierce beauty) to the tender sound of her voice pleading for his help evoked a feeling either unknown or almost erased from his emotional capacity. What he was experiencing was an exceptionally strong urge to provide safety and amenity regardless of the cost, but realising there was a very slim chance of that literally happening brought an unsolicited wave of helpless empathy flowing through his body.

Being forced to stare into the green of her irises enslaved his limbs in the same way as if that very shade of green with a hint of brown had represented a wild, untamed undergrowth swallowing him piece by piece, ensnaring and capturing his every failed attempt to escape, tofree himself from its claws. As he was standing there above her, having her entire life in his hands and dependant on his mercy, he could not help but also sense a tingling feeling of superiority and dominance over the poor being trembling before his eyes. But just as quickly the feeling came it also disappeared due to the intensifying impatience he'd notice in her expression, since the last thing he would want was to provoke another rush of her wrath directed at him.

"Please try not to worry," he began again, ignoring her pleadings, "my father is doing everything in his power to maintain things under control."

Suddenly, the formality and the restraints she had previously employed to express her utter frustration about current situation had vanished. All that remained was the imploring contortion of her features and the harsh words that left her lips without her even realising their weight and consequences of exhibiting such inappropriate behaviour in front of the Prince.

"Everything is not enough!" she wailed, disregarding every single regulation existing connected to addressing a member of the royal family. The sudden ascending of her voice attracted indignant and outraged looks from the entire room, which Aireiel also discounted due to her sudden blast.

"Legolas, garam baw lú," Thranduil's warning echoed from the antechamber. **(Legolas, we have no time)**

The Prince curved his neck for a small degree towards the source of the voice, his gaze falling towards the floor once he realised the emergency of his father's demand. His conscience was now divided into a half; one half bearing the weight of the duty bestowed upon him by his title and position, and the other one carrying the obligation accorded by his own heart. The first half gravitated towards his father's call, urging him to accompany his father on this vital task and aid him in any way he could, but then the other half would get involved, pressuring him with the burden of guilt for abandoning her once again. How exactly does one make a choice between mind and matter?

What was crucial to acknowledge was that the risk reached beyond just a mere threat of war or a possibility of a hostile invasion. It had reached a measure way past the usual scale for it represented a risk the entire Middle Earth should be aware of, and that sort of peril also required consultation and aid from authorities outside the borders of the Woodland Realm. However, since the Realm had suffered a large disadvantage from its unpredictably intelligent foe they were much short on time. It had become an asset they used to spend carelessly and were now facing its immense shortage. Intuition whispered in Legolas's ear what he should truly devote his attention to, and despite his short defiance against that thought he was aware of it being the only truth there was and the only truth he should obey. It was the truth he would have unconditionally followed before there was any other option to choose from. Before he had met _her._ And yet he was compelled to obey that truth nonetheless.

"Goheno nin," Legolas murmured and vanished through the door in order to avoid another obloquious look from the elleth he found he was unable to provide her what she stipulated.

As he was rushing towards the direction his father had gone to, all he could feel was guilt, ignominy, and denunciation burning at his back that was now turned towards Aireiel in the cold manner he had also used to dismiss her with. Even though suffering and disappointment were the last things he would ever wish to inflict on her, the only way out of this crisis was through it and he was aware of his crucial role he was about to play in resolving it. If he should abandon his indispensable role for the elleth, it could only be used against him as a frailty and another weak spot for the Shadow to abuse. He convinced himself he had done the right thing by quelling any trace or mere indication of affection towards her, even if that might not be entirely accurate to what he was actually feeling. For in the end, it was safer for both of them that he should retain those feelings to himself, far from inquisitive, harmful eyes that would only exploit that revelation against them.

"Should we expect any further complications with the elleth in the future?" Thranduil's question resembled an intrusive inquiry rather than an innocent query coming from a worried father.

"Of course not, father," he replied in hope Thranduil would not sense hesitation and uncertainty in his tone which was quite an optimistic ambition.

"See to it, please," Thranduil growled in an unamused manner. "For all of our sakes."

The Prince was not able to revel in the successful achievement of father dismissing the elleth's outburst as a simple inconvenience for another concern occupied his mind then. _Was father onto something? Why else would he imply as if the elleth was my responsibility to_ _supervise_ _?_

Legolas concluded these thoughts to be merely a side effect of having betrayed his heart by not responding or feeling disposed to act upon its command, even though that was essentially avoiding and denying his own desires. For he _did_ nurture all sorts of desires; that much he was willing to admit. It was the nature, the variety, and the numerousness of those desires that kept reminding him of the delicate situation he had found himself in. He was also aware he was not doing her any service by denying her own existence or her presence in his heart right in front of her, however the revelation was already difficult for him to grasp, let alone waste his efforts attempting to explain this mess to her. There was nothing else left for him to do than to quell this matter the same way he would quell any other matter: painlessly and quick. He could not allow himself to be distracted by petty matters, further stealing his attention from things he should concentrate on in the first place.

Once he caught up with his father's brisk pace, he found himself at the entrance of the healers' chambers in the East wing. The sudden expedition of events produced a degree of uncertainty and discomfort to arise within the warrior. Initiating an unofficial questioning regarding the incident in the healers' chambers was inevitable and the only reasonable thing to do. Yet somehow Legolas felt uneasy at the thought of staring in the very eyes of the person who discovered the decaying body and still agreed to cooperate in the investigation. Obviously, the maid had no other choice but to concur on providing the authorities with as much information as she managed to retain, but her bravery and tenacity were estimable nevertheless. One would expect a person to flee from a risky situation like that, not exposing themselves in ever riskier conditions. This implied that they were not dealing with an ordinary elleth as her appearance and position might have inaccurately suggested. After all of that contemplation, Legolas concluded he was not sure what exactly to expect from the approaching interrogation.

The sound of their heavy steps descending towards the underground section indicated firm conviction that they were supposed to emanate; however their steps were significantly weighed down by the burden accorded to them by their royal titles. The time had arrived for them to face the darker, unpleasant sides of their positions and they were starting to realise such occasions were becoming more and more frequent.

Thranduil's large frame, covered in black brocade, passed the last the final corner after which he turned right when they arrived to the vast hallway, spreading far ahead where it ended with the main healers' chambers. The exact location the two of them were now headed to.

While they were hurrying between the massive stone pillars, Legolas began to experience similar influx of emotions as the maid who had only minutes later unfolded an unforgettable discovery. The Prince's eyebrows furrowed into a straight line which caused a chain reaction of his jaw clenching, the hairs on his skin prickling, and his breath getting caught in his throat. Legolas couldn't liberate himself from the progressing eerie feeling that began to produce an unpleasant state in him, as if the walls he was just passing possessed a pair of eyes of their own and meticulously examined his every single move. The sound of giggling maids whispering the contents of the infamous rumour to each other invaded his mind. His whole body cringed at the mere thought of being scrutinized by an invisible spirit that had been inconspicuously dwelling in these parts right in front of them for years. His mind was also invaded by the sudden recollection of the last time he visited those chambers and if filled him with even more goosebumps.

"Are you alright, son?" his father remarked.

"Quite alright, yes," was his quick respond. "I have merely never gotten used to the smell, that is all."

Thranduil released a light chortle that reminded Legolas of mockery, but before Legolas could utter his objection Thranduil began to justify his gesture: "The first time I encountered the throbbing, persisting scent of death I thought it was a part of my imagination. Only when I saw with my own eyes the decaying cadaver it belonged to, I was convinced there are worse things happening out there than the power of my imagination could ever fathom."

Legolas began to deepen into the words his father had just dedicated to him as he understood them as a form of counsel. He wondered what advice his father would give him if he had known the true reason for his current distress, but he chose not to rise any unnecessary suspicion and reply to his kind word of advice.

"It is perplexing how I have adjusted to the sight of death at battlefield as if I have internalised the image, but once I come to face its aftermath, once I _smell_ it, I …"

"You become immobilised," Thranduil completed his sentence once Legolas fell speechless. Only in that moment Legolas believed there could be a shred of genuine understanding between the two of them; a concept Legolas had been unable to restore between them for a very long time.

"Exactly," the Prince agreed in silence, yet the expression in his eyes divulged he bore great admiration for him in that moment.

Suddenly, the King halted in his position, the additional cape around the brocade covering his wide shoulders swung before him and brushed quickly against Legolas's arm as he lifted his eyes.

"I believe pondering on the matter of war is beyond useless and gratuitous at this point," Thranduil began. The direction of his look was first aimed at anywhere but his son before him, but as he continued, his pale eyes were suddenly directed at the expectant Prince before him, "but some things are worth repeating for them to truly settle in one's mind and never to leave."

The Prince was locked in the position where he was unable to do anything but silently accept whatever his father was about to share with him. Once he captured his gaze, he could sense a degree of emotion Legolas had probably seen for the first time in his father's eyes. It faintly reminded him of remorse.

"This shall be no ordinary war, ion nin," he declared. "The proportions of the conflict have already extended to measures beyond our control. The further we tend to delay the inescapable by merely comprehending and accepting this fact, the weaker we are becoming. It is needless to confirm this out loud as you have probably arrived to the same conclusion yourself, that the news of our condition has spread far and wide across the nations."

Thranduil intentionally paused for a brief second to appraise Legolas's reaction which was as vague and bleary as if he spoke black speech to him, so he chose to continue with the final part of what turned out to be nothing less than a motivational speech where Thranduil did not intend to leave anything out.

"In critical times that now lay ahead of all of us, I have no demands of you, but wish for one modest thing. May the renewal of our bond be your guide through these dark times. May the true value of blood light your path towards fair judgement. Gods know you shall need it."

At this point in his speech his right hand reached Legolas's left shoulder and gently squeezed at the protective leather layer that covered the outer part of his training outfit. It was more than a gesture of an incentive, fatherly pat on the shoulder; it was a clear sign of preparing him for something he had yet to discover. The more his words echoed in his mind, the more Legolas wondered what exactly did father mean. _May the true value of blood light your path towards fair judgement._ But fair judgement against what?

After a brief moment of intense uncertainty, Thranduil returned to his usual flexed, straight pose as they continued their way towards the hallway. Soon, they were greeted by two guardsmen appointed to safeguard the witness, the new essential part of the investigation. Thranduil was very well aware of the fact the soon acquired information could prove of vital importance and grave influence to the situation. Therefore, he was prepared to undertake any strategy that should grant him the highest possibility of gaining the crucial intelligence he hoped to receive. And as soon as he was met with the face of the elleth he was about to question, he realised the path towards success of his mission had significantly shortened. Or at least that was what he presumed.

"Hafo, nin meld," he urged gently as the elleth quickly jumped from her seat to greet His Majesty. Faelwen did as she was told and descended back to the velvet cushion placed on a stone surface. **(Sit down, my dear)**

The Prince positioned safely himself in the corner left from the entrance, from where he could comfortably observe the elleth in the process of a truly demanding interrogation. He placed his right foot over the left one and crossed his arms while having his eyes focused on the witness currently facing the King who seemed too pleased with himself not to have some sort of scheme prepared behind all of it.

"Where shall we begin?" exhorted the King as he placed his joined hands in his lap, patiently awaiting for the elleth to make some noise. Once she fail to do so for the next two minutes, the King repeated himself, adding: "As I recall it, you specifically requested my presence, is that not so?"

"Aphedo na lí ara!" a voice shouted then, which belonged to one of the guardsmen currently present in the chamber. **(Answer your King!)**

The elleth was visibly shaken by the earsplitting command which was not a common thing to occur among the guards of the Royal Elven Guard. Their orders were usually conveyed through a composed, unruffled manner since it was not in the Elven nature to get agitated as easily. The King devoted the guard a rigorous look which made the ellon uncomfortably switch in his position and mildly rearrange the belt with a sword attached to it. He suddenly felt as if it compressed his waist, and he did not even dare to guess the reason for the sudden constriction of the belt.

Thranduil then returned the gaze towards the unnerved elleth, whose palms formed a protective shield around each other with her eyes swaying in all directions but the one she should be aiming her gaze at.

Admittedly, Thranduil's patience was wearing thin as it was in his obstinate nature he could never quite shake off, but in this case he was determined to see through this interrogation with as little violence and pugnacity as possible for it was in both of their interests to make this meeting result in success.

"Time is not on our side in this and we cannot afford to waste any more of it than we have already. I know it must be difficult for an ordinary worker like yourself to be exposed to such cruelty on the workplace, especially in dark times we are facing these past few weeks. However, you must try to find the strength to-"

"He was simply standing there," Faelwen interrupted the King without realising. The look in her eyes was absent as it was locked on the stone surface of the table in front of her.

"Who was?" Legolas intervened.

"Take us through the incident evenly, do not leave anything out," Thranduil encouraged her.

Faelwen took in a few deep breaths before she was able to form a congruent, composed statement. She led them through the part of being allotted a new task of joining the healers for the morning and the process of being introduced to the new workplace. There she halted for a moment.

"His name is Cereidon or at least that is the name he used to greet with me. We arrived to the main healers' chambers where he had given me detailed instructions on the treatment of the _patient 56,_ that was supposed to suffer a fatal injury to the spine. What I have found instead was..."

Everybody in the room was aware of what exactly it was that Faelwen had discovered and there was no need for repeating the horrors she'd witnessed. Then suddenly, her eyes jumped to the King without a single trace of fear or awe for the person sitting opposite her. Something similar to angry confusion and indignation overwhelmed her as she continued.

"And he was just standing there. As if he was prepared for what was to come."

"The healer you mentioned?" Legolas asked to which Faelwen replied with a single nod. Then he turned to his father. "It was him who gave the official report."

"How did he react afterwards?" the King wanted to know.

"He followed the procedure according to the statute and then returned to his duties as usual," the elleth explained in a dull tone.

"How strange!" Legolas asserted.

"Strange, indeed," the King agreed, engrossed in his thoughts, when he rose his head to the guard: "Find him and bring him here."

"Please, no!" Faelwen exclaimed unexpectedly. "I do not wish to have any further connection with that ellon, especially having to support my story in front of him!"

"You must understand," Thranduil began, "that the information you have entrusted to us has become a matter of national importance, therefore an information of high value. We intend to make use of it where it can prove useful. There is no time for worrying whether or not you shall lose trust of a single ellon whereas you have gained the Realm's protection instead."

That managed to calm her down at least to the point where she could not think of an instant argument to object the idea with (not that it was in her nature to object a member of royalty, of course). However, she was not as successful with the rush of thoughts that kept invading her mind about how her confession shall influence not only her employment, but further existence as well. It was needless to say that with acknowledging her information's worth she also became worried for her own well-being.

Suddenly, a loud stamp of feet and profanity filled the hallway area outside the chamber. Legolas was the first to arrive on the scene, followed by the King, while Faelwen only managed to slightly lean her head out of the chamber to observe the happening. Soon, she could notice a tall figure approaching the royals, his chestnut hair flying in all directions as he (unsuccessfully) attempted several times to escape the unrelenting grip on his forearms. She could her him voice multiple complaints regarding the reason for his apprehension to which there was no reply.

The screams of disapproval fell silent once the ellon was brought to the King's face and only a few meters away from the inquisitive elleth. She could clearly begin see Cereidon's previous angry expression was being replaced by a whole different countenance deforming his features; his wide eyes shrunk into a round pair of dark jewels radiating with malicious glow, the skin around his eyes and mouth twisted to the point where the previous straight line of his lips formed a devilish sneer. All of a sudden, the charming and graceful ellon Faelwen had only recently had the pleasure of greeting disappeared entirely from Cereidon's face. In his stead, it seemed as if a creature of the night had possessed his physical form and completely demolished whatever idea of a pure ellon that still managed to persist in Faelwen's mind.

"Go on," she could hear him say with an eerie voice. "Ask the question."

"Was it you after all, Cereidon?" Legolas tried first.

"Wrong!" Cereidon yelled, or at least the creature that had inhabited within him. After that a delusional laughter followed and his eyes switched to the King who had not flinched or moved even a bit. "Shall Your Majesty give it another try?"

"How did you do it?"

"Interesting choice, my King, however if I were you I would not be concerned as much with the _how_ but rather with the _why,_ though I've decided to quench your burning curiosity nonetheless," the creature jested in its sick manner.

"Answer the question, you filth!" Thranduil roared.

"One would deem your Excellency to err on the side of caution these days rather than taking a risk by welcoming a pair of strangers in your residence," the creature began. "You ought to have chosen more wisely, my King. Your time has run out."

"I am no King of yours," Thranduil spat. "Throw him in the lower dungeons! And keep him there until the day of his judgement comes!"

The King's orders were immediately obeyed as the creature, still firmly enclosed in the guards' grip, was being dragged away from the scene and could be heard yelling additional amount of sacrilege. While the culprit was being discarded, the pair of royals then turned to the helpless being who merely observed the entire happening from behind one of the stone pillars guarding her from exposing herself. The King then approached her and his towering figure could almost shade Faelwen's entire face.

"I thank you for placing yourself in a very perilous situation by exposing yourself with sharing such sensitive information," Thranduil expressed his gratitude. "But I must warn you to remain cautious every step of your way. Do not mention the events of today to anyone if you value your life, for our walls have grown a pair of ears and eyes of their own of late. And before we make any further progress, we must make sure to cut them off."

With the last sentence he executed a gesture that indicated for her to leave the area now as the King wished to spend a few minutes in privacy with his son that had now joined his side.

"We still do not have in our possession his full statement of confession," Legolas reminded him once the silence began to gnaw to deep in his thoughts.

Thranduil waited a few short moments before answering in firm determination: "Sometimes, the law must be adjusted to current extreme circumstances in order to avoid certain aggravations in the future."

"You denote the number of deaths that occurred in the recent weeks as an _aggravation_?" the Prince asked in blatant disbelief and resentment.

"I denote it as the beginning of a national catastrophe," the Elven king then swayed his head in a single swift movement to his son, his blonde locks strictly hitting the fabric on his chest and shoulders. "But trust me when I say that the demise of these individuals is but an itch compared to what our Realm is yet to face."

* * *

 **A/N: I hope everyone enjoyed this one. It was quite tense reading it all over again, not to mention writing it.  
So this silly little idea turned up in my mind and I think it's rather interesting. I've noticed (in other fanfictons) that adding a piece of music which inspired you (or reminds you of) writing a certain scene has become quite popular among writers here. So I decided to join this trend and for the introduction of a new character, the Brown Wizard, I chose this lovely piece of classical music: Morning Mood by ****Edvard Grieg** **(Peer Gynt) since I always enjoy listening to some classical music while writing. I believe it suits Radagast and his role perfectly!**


	14. Chapter 14

**I sincerely apologise for the late update, but I am glad to finally be able to say that high school is officially behind me! The situation has been hectic until last week when we finally got our results and I am more than happy with the outcome. Honestly, I haven't done one bit of writing during the exam period, but I am excited and thrilled to return!**

* * *

Chapter 14

With Middle Earth settling into the first half of the month of Firith, the sharp wind drifting from the peaks of Ered Mithrin had arrived to the southern regions and filled the lands with the cold breeze of impending winter, including the woods of Lórien. In the early mornings, the grasslands at the north-eastern borders soon became sprinkled with soft particles of black frost caused by the arrival of dry and freezing air descending from Misty Mountains. The local residents of the forest such as deer mice, ground squirrels, and common poorwills had already begun with their search for appropriate accommodation where they should safely and undisturbedly hibernate. Others, such as ermines, red foxes, hares, and meadow voles tend to grow thicker furs and adapt to life during winter. This year, however, the access and supply of food had significantly worsened and lowered which had resulted in a sight of a forest deprived of its usually cheerful and lively scenery. **  
**

Late afternoon had descended upon the Elven realm of Lothlorien and most of the animals had scattered to their newly established abodes, once again empty-handed. But the forest was far from dormant, for there were movements to be sensed at the northern part of the realm, near the river Anduin, howbeit soft and muffled. These delicate footsteps belonged to a small group of marchwardens of Lórien, an elven patrol guarding the northern borders, clothed in grey hooded cloaks. The leadership belonged to a highly skilled warrior and ranger named Haldir, who was most accomplished and adept among his companions, even though the group was selectively formed only of the best warriors the realm possessed.

As the group progressed further towards the river, Haldir could notice the breath of winter had already kissed the frozen soil beneath his feet and the dry, bare plants cracking under its weight. But one anomaly particularly caught his attention as it wasn't a common (if not almost impossible) sight to see during this time of the year. The marchwarden distanced himself from the group to draw closer to an enormous tree that still managed to preserve a sparkle of life opposed to other plants in the area whose essence had entirely dried up. Once he discerned the colour of its bark, there was no doubt left – he was looking at the great Mallorn tree; or at least it deserved such title in the past, for all that was now left of the once proudest of Lórien's symbols were black and grey stains covering the surface of its bark and thin branches lacking one crucial detail – the glorious golden leaves that traditionally persisted even through toughest winter conditions and remained attached to the strong branches. That easily disregarded detail was the cause of Haldir's sudden worry and anxiety that overwhelmed him at the sight of the ailing tree.

The chief marchwarden swayed in his position and turned his head in order to catch a glimpse of the rest of his group. Once he recognised one of the figures carefully lurking in the dim nightfall, he called the companion to him.

"Do you see?" Haldir questioned the fellow marchwarden on his right who was now curiously observing the tree he was summoned to. "Can you recognise the mischief that has poisoned our trees?"

"É, I look at its pitiful state, yet I cannot see what has instigated the decay," the comrade replied, with his baffled eyes still cruising along the ill-coloured bark.

Before Haldir could make any indications suggesting the likely origins of the wrongdoing, his pointy ears caught a sound much alike to their soft footsteps, only that its source led him to look up and scan the labyrinth of thin branches above him. His bewilderment was soon replaced with sincere surprise as he beheld the sight of a large, brown-necked raven plunging towards the group of marchwardens. As the bird drew nearer to the group (targeting Haldir in particular, as if it could detect and distinguish him from the rest of the companions), the chief marchwarden could notice a sort of miniature scroll attached to a loose string (that most resembled a necklace in its appearance) fixed around its neck.

When Haldir sensed the tension in his companions' movements due to the unexpected emergence of the large aerial predator, he shouted to them in Elvish: "Be at ease! I believe the bird is transporting a message of potentially high importance."

The rest of the marchwardens heeded Haldir's advice and recoiled from their belligerent positions by lowering their weapons. The bird visibly relaxed in its manner of hovering above the group of guardsmen; the previously nervous and unpredictable fluttering of its wings turned to an easy flow of even swings. With a few more gentle strokes, the raven managed to land on Haldir's extended forearm. Haldir was now able to remove the message tied to the bird's neck and decided to read it in silence first. He was soon interrupted by his inquisitive companions.

"What news does the message bring?" his brother Rúmil spoke first.

"If you would be so kind as to indulge me to finish reading it first, I will be then able to interpret it to my best abilities," Haldir answered with his famed wit to which Rúmil simply rolled his eyes and chose to direct his attention to the distant nature ahead of him.

After a few moments, Orophin, Haldir's second brother, continued with the questions: "Who dispatched it?"

Haldir devoted him a rather grisly look before declaring to the entire group: "Both the raven and the message tied to it arrive from Mirkwood; more precisely – the King's palace. The message contains vulnerable information regarding the Realm's conditions and therefore implores to be delivered to the Lady of the Wood immediately."

"The mighty Elvenking has dared to plead for our aid?" one of the hooded companions spoke out incredulously.

"What puzzles me," Haldir then answered with an unexpectedly calm voice, "is that the message itself was not written under King's request. In fact, I strongly suspect it was composed without his knowledge or approval."

With that said and duly noted, the Wardens of Lórien rearranged their grey hoods, strengthened the belts attached to the case carrying their shafts, and embarked on the path leading them back to Caras Galadhon.

* * *

In the meantime, further south to the river Celebrant, a tall, glowing figure, clad in a translucent gown strolled the banks of the little streams surrounding Lórien's greatest city. Locks of wavy hair reminiscing the colour of summer wheat fell lightly on the garment's soft fabric and swayed airily in harmony with the figure's movements. On top of the golden hair rested a silver circlet with intertwined design and a gold, pointed end at the middle of the smooth, pale forehead. The owner of this fine jewellery was considered the wisest and fairest of all creatures in Middle Earth. The ever-wary eyes of blue stardust always emitted kindness and poise, the pearly white tone of the skin indicated the divine descent, and the mere sound of the figure's voice could charm and beguile even the most disciplined of soldiers and warriors. The only being who beseemed such description was none other than the Lady of Galadhrim herself.

With every new step, her bare feet reconnected with the soil beneath her touch, absorbing its powers and communicating with them. And so every time her pale skin made contact with the cold, firm soil, the corner of her lips would twist downwards, creating a sullen and bleak shadow to cover her gentle features. Previously relaxed, closed eyes opened in an agitated manner, as if her profound and intense meditation was suddenly provoked and disturbed by an unknown force. Galadriel realised such sign indicated no good was to come out of this.

 _The land speaks to me in dreadful sorrow,_ her voice appeared in the air. _It whispers words of the Shadow and mentions names not of this world. The dark power transmits through the northern lands, enfeebling all living things. Han mathon ne nen… Han mathon chae… A han noston ned gwilith… **(I feel it in the water. I feel it in the Earth.** **I smell it in the air.)**_

A faint, low reply arrived then through a mild swish of the wind, carrying the words of Galadriel's hervenn, Celeborn. **(Hervenn = husband)**

 _Strange have been the vagaries of nature of late. While the power of Nenya maintains the balance and equity within our realm, there is little its influence can provide to aid the lands in the North._

Celeborn's answer did not seem to please Galadriel at all, since her naturally composed character began to slowly flare to the point her eyes started to alter in colour. It all happened in a brief moment: her pallid complexion began to fade into a shade of dark grey and her long wavy locks did not long emit the previous golden shine. But just as quickly as the change had appeared, it also faded away for Galadriel's self-mastery was much stronger than the desire for vile spirit to take hold. Something else entirely had now occupied her mind.

Despite being ever so cautious and vigilant in their movements, the group of marchwardens could not walk unnoticed pass Galadriel's watchful eye. In the split of a second, her attention was immediately directed elsewhere; she was no longer bothered by what might be crawling north of the woods, but was far more interested in why her troops were lingering in these parts instead of surveying and guarding the realm's borders. She carefully marked their movements as they progressed closer to her location. Having been taught to move rapidly and inconspicuously, they reached their destination in no time. When they arrived, their Lady was already waiting for them near Calas Galadhon to greet them in her usual calm manner.

Before addressing their sovereign, the marchwardens performed a quick bow as a gesture of respect and did not spare one second after to deliver the most recent news.

"Brennil nín, we bear distressing tidings addressed to Your Grace," Haldir declared as the head of the wardens.

"You carry great burden with you, I sense," Galadriel replied vacantly, yet intently. After she'd read the letter of great importance, her glance cruised along the pathway the wardens had just used and traced every plant scattered along the path. Eventually, she had awakened from the quick daydream and looked at her troop with serious firmness and grit, yet her voice remained as calm and smooth as ever.

"The King of the Wood Elves has found himself in a very onerous position. Dark forces have recently tainted the soil within his borders after they had unsuccessfully struggled to achieve the same aim at ours. The only thing I require of you at the moment is to speak of this matter to no one without prior permission. Everyone is entitled to hear of this in due time, however avoid unnecessary spill of information by all means. Until further notice, the news is our business alone."

The marchwardens paid close attention to every detail mentioned in Galadriel's orders. Each one of the wardens was aware of the gravity of the situation their realm had suddenly found itself in by being privy to matters currently unfolding in the neighbouring Woodland Realm. Each was also very well aware that the hostility arising not that far in the north could easily spread unnoticed and unseen through their borders as well should they but fail to notice one crucial sign. Such negligence would indubitably result in catastrophic consequences both for their realm as for the rest of the lands in the Middle Earth.

However, the Lady of Light was considerate enough to remind her soldiers not to burden themselves by laying the weight of the realm's destiny on their own shoulders as a result of being implicated in this ungrateful turn of events. Even though the soldiers themselves were more than capable of handling the situation on their own, they were somehow grateful and glad their Lady showed them such kindness, despite the fact that the gesture was beyond the extend of kindness she was required to express. It only strengthened the already tightly firmed bond between the sovereign and restored their faith in her omnipotence.

Soon after delivering the orders, Galadriel kindly asked her wardens to allow her some privacy in order to process the delivered letter in peace and concentration. Naturally, the request was merely a pretext for recognising the weight of the information brought to her without having the marchwardens' minds interpret the situation in their own way, which could potentially do more harm than good.

By roaming the banks of the stream bellow, she wished to induce and encourage an undisturbed flow of thoughts that would enable her to arrive to a pragmatic solution to the ongoing crisis. She realised no drastic changes could be made in such short amount of time, however she felt it as her duty to at least devote all her efforts to attempt to form a conclusion of some sort. Even though the words of her hervenn echoed in her mind, causing doubt to settle in it, she fought the ineluctable prejudices attached to the Realm she desired to help. What justified Galadriel's repute was not only the ability to uprightly assess her realm's priorities, but also take into consideration other lands' interests. Such rare peculiarity was the main reason her realm thrived and prospered in the way it did by also maintaining healthy and respectable relations with other kingdoms. Now that the time of true trial had come, it was upon her to prove her dedication to the sovereignty of her realm.

The Lady's rambling thoughts were soon interrupted by familiar soft footsteps. Though it was not an interruption she'd reject or disapprove; in fact, it was much needed.

"What troubles you, my love?" a whisper then surrounded her like a breath of fresh air. Galadriel's eyes slowly closed at the sound of the voice, embracing it with all her senses.

"Word of distress and anguish has arrived from the Woodland Realm, stating that the conditions at the palace have become unbearable," the Lady replied with her eyes still shut. "What would you have me do?"

"Mell nin, you are familiar with my thoughts on the matter. Asking for my permission or counsel would prove ineffective, as you are aware. The true answer you are seeking is already within yourself. After all," Celeborn concluded, "they _do_ trust you more than me."

"If we consciously choose to ignore the ongoing devastation in the North, it is bound to try and claim our lands as well for the Realm is too weak in numbers to dispel the wickedness on their own. But if we choose to lend them our troops," the Lady continued with her strategy, "we could minimise the risk and the extent of the inevitable fatal collision."

"Do you sincerely suppose they will see it that way?" Celeborn then for the first time directly voiced his doubt.

Galadriel opened her eyes then, fierce, ice-cold determination impetuously resting in her expression. She arched her lithe neck in her husband's direction and uttered: "They must."

* * *

Two mornings after the extremely onerous interrogation the halls of the Woodland palace remained as cold and bleak as they had been for the past month. Bereft of its usual commotion, caused by the staff rushing hither and thither or the court residents with their occasional loud, salacious conversations, the palace seemed completely abandoned. Since it was declared a state of war and emergency by the King himself, the residents had no interest (or reason for that matter) to attend to their usual business or errands since all that was previously natural and common in their routines had lost its meaning. For all things once deemed normal become vapid and hollow during the time of war. There was only one thing that had turned into paramount priority in these dark times: survival.

No other was more aware of that fact than Faelwen who was currently hiding away from her duties in her chamber. As all court staff and servants, Faelwen and her department were no exception in the treatment the King used towards them. It was widely known that the workforce in all divisions were regarded and treated with respect, which was not an oddity among elven realms. Even though the King was considered to be a strict and brusque master his intentions were always primarily focused on maintaining productive affiliations with the personnel. For what sort of king would wish to have his own servants turn against him?

Based on this supposition, Faelwen had absolutely no reason to worry about joining her primary department to work (since the royal family still preferred to have a clean chamber to come to). But the young maid absolutely brimmed with worries. She was overcome by emotions that she found difficult to both tame and understand. She'd hoped that after the most recent event of being involved in the confrontation of a cold-blooded murderer the past would remain in the past. However, she could have foreseen that the fact she'd crossed paths with not one but two members of the royalty would somehow find its way out for the public to chew on. Not only that now her hopes of fading inconspicuously back into the society were now crushed completely, she'd even become the centre of it.

Faelwen never considered herself to be an elleth who would particularly enjoy being heaped with the enormous attention she was currently getting. And given the current fragile, indefinite circumstances it was not either wise nor safe to be exposed amidst a larger crowd. Not to mention the amount of exasperating questions regarding her brief meeting with the royalty she would receive. Despite the fact it was most thrilling to have gained a probably unrepeatable experience, she soon began to wish she'd never been involved in any of it in the first place.

Once she'd realised there was little in her power to do anything about the inconvenient position, she managed to gather the strength to leave the suffocating room and get to work or else even more hearsay might spring.

The maid left her chamber with ambivalent feelings dangling over her heavy head, safely bolted the entrance door, and began to take the familiar path which would guide her to the department she was initially appointed to, before getting herself in the "underground incident" as she lately found herself describing the most shocking event of her life. She had been devoting all her effort to not think of it as frequently as it was spoken about it, yet she could not escape the obdurate feeling in her gut every time she came across the mention of it.

Roaming the palace's halls at this time of day would usually mean avoiding large crowds of staff she'd encounter along the way and occasionally taking a break at one of the giant pillars (a very popular gathering spot) in order to have a short chinwag with one of the colleagues in neighbouring departments. All that Faelwen once took for granted had now disappeared entirely. There were no long queues to be seen forming at each department's quarters nor her usual group of friends. Faelwen had learned that some either spread false rumours regarding her actions during the time of the incident or coveted the unenviable position she'd found herself in, while others simply condemned her unfortunate role in the whole mess. In the entire muddle the maid sadly grasped the fact that she had become either friendless or gained more adversaries than she had in her entire lifetime.

Still under the bad influence of such devastating thoughts, Faelwen failed to notice she had completely overlooked the fact that she had taken the wrong path to work. In an imaginary scenario (which would not seem as imaginary mere weeks ago) she would have one of her colleagues remind her of her step, but in this case she was left alone to her poor and lost orientation.

Just as she was about to turn and take the same way back on which she arrived, a mild, barely audible swish originating from the opposite end of the hallway caught her attention. For a brief moment she thought to herself that she had might as well encountered another living soul aimlessly roaming the corridors who could provide her with a way out. Yet to her great disappointment, the sound did not repeat itself nor did it give any indication of doing so.

In such vulnerable and uncertain circumstances any normally functioning being would disregard the noise and try to find their way back as soon as possible. Considering the conditions the Realm was currently in, this could signify a potential catastrophe one might wish to avoid at all cost. However, Faelwen must have calculated that such recommendations did not apply to her for she saw nothing useful in them. The appealing sense of imminent life-threatening danger obviously seemed much more attractive.

Instead of concentrating on finding a way out, her mind seemed to have wandered in another direction entirely. It lured her limbs into moving towards the direction of the fading sound whose effect was still lingering in the corners of the stone-carved ceiling. Even her arms began to lift from the previous taut, tangled position in a manner which resembled a sort of hypnosis. The key to her chamber, which she clutched tightly in her palm moments ago even though it was carefully tied to her wrist, loosened around her thin bones and swayed freely as her hands moved and searched for the unknown through the air. Then she made her first step in the direction of the fascinating sound. From that moment on, the desire to reach the unknown had only intensified to the point where she was not aware of her movements any longer.

Before she realised where her possessed feet were taking her, Faelwen found herself standing at the top of a steep stairway she had never seen before. She could see her hands grasping for something elusive lurking in the shadows at the end of the stairway while her feet remained stuck to the ground. It was as if her body had been separated into two parts, neither of which she could control. Her eyes traced the path her feet had made, and when her gaze arrived at the spot she was currently occupying she could feel a light breath of cold air skulking around her ankles. Only when she followed its movements towards the hallway on her left she was able to distinguish the black and dark green shades blending in the progressing swirl. Faelwen slowly began collecting and connecting the dots into a horrendous concept, however the realisation arrived far too late. Benumbed and attenuated by the venomous substances hidden in the mysterious mist, her body had collapsed under its weight. The dark fog then enfolded Faelwen in its smoke and carried her body down the stairs where it departed into the darkness without further sound.

* * *

One of the final roving beams of afternoon sunlight slunk from behind the pearly white mountains peaks and threw flickering shadows on the balcony walls carved out of the limestone which was the main compound the palace was built of. This particular balcony was situated west of the grand hall, near the royal quarters, and it was a part of a chamber which was allotted to the two guests immediately after their initial healing procedure was complete.

The first sight of the place left both of them speechless for they had never seen such grandeur, let alone been a part of it. Velvet cushions of currant red, silken bedspreads in the shade of jade, heavy cups of ornamented gold, and large embroidered tapestries covering the high, cold walls were a clear indication of the Realm's attempt at exposing and imposing their abundance. The atmosphere was brimming with scented oils and other pleasant essences. Both Aireiel and Edenir could vividly recall every last detail of their first encounter with their new accommodation.

Even though it might have seemed as if heaven itself had descended on earth and blessed the two of them with its splendour, all previous charm and appeal of it had waned by the end of the second week of their stay. The feelings of luxury and indulgence had lately been replaced with the sense of imprisonment. It started to seem to Aireiel and Edenir as if they were being held captive in a golden cage. Their every move was under meticulous control, their each whisper captured by hidden eavesdroppers within the walls. It was painfully obvious that the situation had grown unbearable for the two elves who were used to exploring new parts of Mirkwood each afternoon, not spend an indefinite amount of time behind the palace walls.

They could not argue the fact that the Realm had heaped them with myriads of pleasurable delights since it stood for a sort of custom of theirs, and no polite guest could ever refuse such generous hospitality. Sadly, the two elves had soon realised the splendid gifts and kind gestures were merely an act of pretence withholding a much greater and darker cause. Even Edenir, who had eagerly preserved faith in the righteous intent of their captivity for so long, had now come to see the truth behind the dishonest veneer.

"I cannot believe the turpitude of the dirty tricks they have been using on us," Edenir admitted while staring in the distance spread out in front of them. "All of their solicitude has always had one simple purpose which has been hidden from us since the beginning."

"That purpose being to persuade us into staying in the palace and forsake our own ambitions in order to transform into permanent lowly subjects of his control," his daughter added with a detached voice.

"Perhaps it had some significance at the beginning," Edenir then returned to his older thoughts which he essentially wished to justify in order to calm his burning conscience. "After all, it was by their intervention that we survived the consequences of what happened on that cursed hill."

"Perhaps, father, you invented a significance for something that should have remained insignificant," Aireiel retorted to his thoughts.

"I must admit, I was a bit staggered at the constant requests for us to attend all sort of meetings about matters that did not, and still do not, concern us in the slightest. The King must have relied on the fact that we could never reject his personal appeal," the tall elf discovered. "Once we had attended a few meetings, we would have gained enough knowledge about the Realm's affairs that it would have been too dangerous to set us free."

Aireiel took in a deep breath of realisation and then concluded: "And the only way they could have us under constant inspection would be to extort us on the grounds that we might pose too great a risk to the Realm as they lock us up here forever."

As they let the fresh realisation break the surface, their faith and ambitions were diminished with each new trace of growing shadows creeping upon their faces. The last rays of the dying sun splattering on the canvas of the blood-painted sky reminded the pair of their current situation which seemed as equally hopeless as the setting sun, absorbed by the immensity of the inbound darkness.

"What are we to do, father?" flame-haired elleth asked after the sunlight had completely vanished from the horizon.

Edenir then turned his tall frame to lean his back upon the cold stone of the balcony. His lean face constructed of proportioned features was illuminated by the soft light emanating from the lanterns scattered around their chambers. Aireiel meticulously traced each visible line painted on his face (only tohavediscovered there were too few of them for her to bother with) which were obviously caused by the current apprehension pestering him rather than the brush of time. She could not help but wonder what mother would think of him today. She pondered on the choice of her words that could comfort his ailment in the way nothing else ever could. Aireiel knew that along with losing mother he had also lost purpose whose dearth could still be felt to that day. Even though that they were left with each other, they both remained aware of the vast breach that formed the day they lost everything.

"Continuing to mention their wicked machinations would be of little avail," he responded at last. "We must use this precious moment of realisation to our utmost benefit, but we must also tread carefully. If they should but once suspect us of having unearthed their plot, we would longer be considered guests but rather an immediate threat to the King and undoubtedly thrown into the dungeons."

A thick lump had suddenly emerged in Aireiel's throat as she listened to her father's words. Having discovered the King's true intents had naturally come with both heavy responsibility and burdensome consequences. As if looking at the Prince was not difficult enough on its own, she would now (probably quite soon) have to face him bearing secrets that could prove lethal if she should fail to successfully wear her veil of subterfuge at their next encounter.

"It is essential we draw as little attention to ourselves as possible for we must continue to give the impression of being flattered and honoured by their hospitality," Edenir began contriving the strategy. "Our response should then arrive quick and unexpected, striking where they would least anticipate."

Throughout the entire time of Edenir's fervent plotting and scheming, Aireiel's lump grew thicker along with another knot forming in her stomach. This entire situation had escalated to the point where she could not think straight any longer without foreseeing her doom each time.

The hard fact remained that a grave injustice had been inflicted upon them. It had advanced into a serious problem which shall continue to grow until the arrival of the day when the two of them will find themselves bound hand and foot as a result of their insuperable blindness. Unless they acted wisely and timely. The only way to do so, Aireiel found out, was to extract the advantages they had at their disposal in an ocean of disadvantages, and manipulate them at an appropriate time to assure a safe getaway.

"The last thing we should wish upon ourselves is to unleash a battle that we cannot win," she argued coldly then, facing him from his right side. "Whether we'd like to admit it or not, the Realm is a formidable foe, one that would not only be difficult but also foolish to take on."

Edenir's posture remained as still as the stone he was leaning upon, attentively listening to her suggestion. He soon realised she was secretly expecting a reaction from him to which he responded with an empathic sigh.

"I do not crave battle, I am merely seeking a fair compensation for our unfounded captivity which has been going on for far too long," the elf pointed out.

It was about that time that Aireiel's militant side had ignited and produced a set of heated words meant to finally rinse the nonsense out of her father's head. "Do you honestly believe the King will show us any mercy after our conspiracy is uncovered? They barely display any compassion or care towards our distress unless it is related to their objectives! As we have clarified already, their material support was only ever created to trick us into thinking they are prepared to contribute to our welfare when in fact it is nothing more than dirty bribery. If you have let yourself believe that it is a sign of kindness, then I feel nothing but pity for you, father."

The passionate monologue that had just been released from Aireiel's lips forced Edenir to seriously reconsider the aim behind his own strategy. As difficult as it may have been to admit it, she made a fair point, and even though he disliked having his ideas doubted and discredited he was prepared to discuss it.

However, the more profoundly he pondered on her words the more he began to comprehend the rationality behind them. In that moment he was hit with yet another brutal awareness. Whenever his reckless fervency divested all rational thought from his head, her words of wisdom ensured he was safely returned to reality. Whenever he caved in to the temptations of his imagination, she persuaded him to listen to his reason when he assumed it had abandoned him entirely. And while he continued to list all the admirable qualities of his daughter, a piercing realisation seeped in his soul with such ease and tenderness as a soft breeze blowing through the spring blossoms. Her character, her voice, even her movements resembled her sorely missed mother, Amalondeth. But instead of giving in to the sweet sensation of having been tricked by his own senses, he resisted it in every possible way. He detested the fact that the memory of a past era could cause him to lose his reserve in such vulnerable conditions, making him even more susceptible.

When he was able to push aside the disruptive recollections, Edenir chose to devote his concentration to matters that currently called for his attention. Pressing matters which, if not attended to appropriately, could twist his and the fate of his daughter in an even more disastrous way that they already had.

"You are right," he finally admitted as he dragged himself back inside the chamber to rest. "I have become quite pitiful."

"That's not what I meant," Aireiel hurried once she saw her father's expression. "The heated words had escaped my mouth before reason could stop them."

"Maybe they carry more sense than intended," he confessed while his fingers circled around his right temple. "This stretches beyond retribution. We cannot fight this offhand or without a prudent strategy."

The two of them remained silent for a few moments after having arrived to a mutual agreement. It was nothing unusual for them to fight over having different opinions on trivial matters. However this particular situation required for both of them to not only agree to a simple conclusion, but arrive to the most reasonable one. One that would enable them to always be two steps ahead of the palace's administration. But how does one swindle the most cunning tricksters of them all?

Eventually, they both individually reached the same conclusion in their mind. Being the palace's guests for as long as they had been did not come without a price, even though they were initially led to believe so. The longer they lingered within its halls, the more they were exposed to danger they posed. The only rational conclusion was that there was no way they could defeat the King (or at least avoid his further enforced supervision) at his own home ground. Not to mention being distressingly outnumbered.

After pondering on the latest notion for a few more seconds, Aireiel announced: "I see no other solution but to flee the palace." Her father agreed with a simple but firm nod. "Our visit here provides us with more disadvantages than benefits. They probably know all the corridors by heart, along with everything else this place has to offer. If it ever comes to it, we need to make sure we confront them somewhere we can make use of our strengths."

Edenir went through every word she uttered and concluded it was a wise plan. "There is only one hitch," he added seriously at the end.

"What is it?"

"We first need to reclaim something that had been stolen from us."

* * *

While the moon was about to rise and conquer the darkness of the night with its silver shimmer, while the maids had finally found a brief moment of respite and the servants in the wine cellar were able to pour a glass of sweet, crimson liquid for themselves, the activities in the training area were just about to set off.

"Lago, mín savim beleg muda carim," an authoritative voice shouted down the stairway leading to the underground training field. **(Hurry, we have a lot of work to do)**

As the voice spread to all directions it could reach, a perfectly formed squad of youthful and brisk soldiers began to emerge from one of the corridors leading to the vast training space. Clad in lightweight, but warm, dark green cloaks made of firm fabric the lithe maethyr descended from the final step one by one, each carrying a weapon of choice in their hands.

The training regulations did not strictly require the soldiers to wear heavy armour when practising close combat within the boundaries of the training area, however it was preferable exclusively for this training session for them to adorn their full suit of armour, excluding the helmets. The particular preference was voiced by the Lord Commander himself along with the captain of the Mirkwood Elven guard, the former of which was now rather impatiently waiting for the newcomers to finally arrive at the scene.

"Mín hîr dartha fael," was another command directed at the marching soldiers. The intensity and strength of the voice which issued the order indicated the troop was fast approaching and nearly reached its destination. **(The Lord is already waiting)**

A group of around twenty eager soldiers entered the training area and formed a perfectly still line in front of one of the highest officials in the military department in the Realm. Tauriel, who led and arranged the group (at the Commander's request), first circled querulously around the soldiers who yet had to join the line and then roamed along the twenty fresh members of the royal army, as if trying to intentionally find a smallest flaw in them. After ensuring everything was in order, Tauriel placed herself along the Lord Commander and allowed him to appropriately greet the newcomers.

"Mae govannen, mell maethyr," Meatherion addressed the crowd in front of him. "As you have been previously informed, you were formally gathered here through the King's personal invitation. Informally, you are here at my _command_ , as I specifically required an immediate meeting with the finest soldiers our army has to offer." He paused for a brief second to allow the ellyn to let the information seep in but no more than that since dawdling was not in today's agenda. "Do not let it get into your heads or else I personally will make sure it will not. Your duty is not only to obey commands but also to follow your destiny which is to serve both the King and the Realm." **(Welcome, dear warriors)**

After welcoming the soldiers with a rather warm acceptance, he let Tauriel finish the rest of the instructions they were given from higher officials.

"We are all facing a difficult task before us," she began without further hesitation. "While the rest of the Realm is busying their minds with surviving the dark times ahead, it is our duty to enable them to do so. The moment you chose to participate in the army, you were allotted a new identity. Now it is time to adopt it. From now on you are not mere servicemen – you are the Realm's instrument of wrath and ire. Only after you have accepted that notion in your minds you will be able to execute your mission."

She had given them a minute of consideration and an opportunity to retreat from the challenge ahead. When not a single voice uttered a request to be released from duty, Tauriel and Meatherion were able to begin with their work.

"We brought you here tonight to revive various techniques of close combat with dual daggers, knives, and short swords. You are to restore and replenish the endurance, speed, and resilience required in a close combat," Tauriel informed them as she walked across to the field, preparing the necessary targets and accessories. "We will be joined shortly by the Prince himself."

The added information evoked an anticipated mild murmur among the soldiers still formed in a line, but it died out as soon as they remembered Tauriel's recent words on mental stability which filled their souls with a fiery zeal. Being offered to work directly in the service of their King was an honour they did not wish to tarnish in any way as they aspired to prove to both Tauriel and Meatherion as well as the King that they are worthy and capable of the quest assigned to them.

Once the field was aptly arranged, Tauriel summoned the soldiers to join her in the middle of the battle ground. There she explained the process of tonight's training session which would be carried out in five groups of four individuals, and later on into two pairs in each group. She then bothered to examine each soldier's personal weapon, assessed its worth and condition, and made replacements or recommendations if necessary.

All of this was naturally a tactic of stalling she had employed in order to kill time while they were waiting for Legolas to arrive at the scene. She was informed the Prince had been detained in one of the grand halls by a particularly fascinating female member of the peerage who had occupied him with a most captivating description of her daily schedule, especially the hours devoted to developing strong social relations. _Of course, nothing out of the ordinary then,_ Tauriel replied sarcastically to herself once she received the news.

Tauriel's inner reproof of Legolas's behaviour was soon interrupted by the arrival of the very subject she was reprimanding in her mind. She released one of the golden daggers she was inspecting and slid towards the vivacious Prince who greeted her with a cheerful smile.

"Enjoyed your happy hour, I hope?" she commented once they were next to each other, both of their gazes directed at the young fighters.

"I always do," he replied with the same impish tone, then turned to her with a frisky spark glimmering in his blue eyes, "though I appreciate your heartfelt concern."

"Rather special this one, was she not? Since she managed to keep you occupied for over half an hour after you were due to join us," Tauriel added with a hint of admonition.

"I admit, it is hard to coordinate all of my duties at all times, but I simply did not find the strength in my heart to cause her the pain of having to abandon her right in the middle of her avid speech."

"Oh, my Lord, you are most merciful!" she laughed in response. "I deem myself privileged to be talking to you just now."

"As you should," Legolas slightly tilted his head in her direction and devoted her a wink. "Now, let us begin."

With that being said, the two skilled warriors proceeded with preparing the soldiers for one of the most demanding stages of their lives. Legolas was about to demonstrate a few quick movements when he was intercepted by Meatherion who had been silent this whole time.

"My Prince," he blurted and offered a slight bow which was, according to his rank and station, not exactly compulsory but merely a gesture of respect. "May I speak to you in private for a moment?"

Reluctant at first, Legolas agreed to Meatherion's request as they retreated to a more secluded spot in the training area.

"What is it, Lord Commander?"

"Well, I find it very difficult to present this matter correctly, but I suppose I should not be wasting your valuable time any further," he hesitated. "The fact is that people are beginning to question the exigency of the war we are facing. You know how they behave when it comes to spreading information regarding the administration, but the nature of these speculations is highly sensitive and, I must stress, close to treacherous. We cannot afford this sort of political climate merely days away from the attack."

Legolas had to confess to himself – the information he had just received was a large burden to take upon his shoulders all at once. His thoughts began swirling and whirling with disastrous scenarios such climate could potentially lead to.

"I must apologise for attacking you with this news rather unexpectedly," Meatherion hurried once he noticed Legolas's expression. "The truth is, I assumed you would be able to bear it more reasonably than your father. Perhaps I was wrong in putting additional load on your shoulders rather than speaking directly to the King, and in that case, goheno nin."

Even though a part of Meatherion's apology was justifiable and correct, Legolas saw a brilliant opportunity in having Meatherion choose to share the news with him and not father. It had now become apparent to other officials as well that father's behaviour could not be tolerated for much longer. Being privy to the facts that the King was not meant a whole new stage of power for Legolas, not only in terms of his role in the royal administration but also in the relationship with his father which was now inevitably bound to change.

"No, not at all, please," Legolas comforted the Commander. "I am most grateful you chose to speak with me about this pressing matter. I will make sure it reaches the King immediately."

"That is all I was hoping for. Le channon, my Prince." **(Thank you)**

After having cleared urgent matters with Legolas and by doing so simultaneously clearing his conscience, Meatherion rushed to Tauriel and notified her that Legolas would not be able to attend tonight's training session due to unexpected nuisance which required his immediate attention.

"But he was supposed to assist me with the newcomers!" Tauriel cried in protest.

"The Prince cannot neglect his royal duties when it comes to matters of national importance," the Lord Commander insisted as she employed the most devastated expression she could form. "Regardless of prearranged responsibilities," he added to assure that he will not be returning to the training area this evening.

Tauriel simply rolled her eyes (as she had done so many times before) and obediently accepted her fate. She returned to the soldiers who patiently awaited for her at the middle of the ground. As she reclaimed one of the weapons she was previously observing, she sensed a movement which she caught with the corner of her eye. A swoosh of bright locks brushed her shoulders and the next moment she saw the familiar figure beside her.

"I suppose nature has its own way of saving you from the abominable suffering of having to assist me in practice?" she mocked Legolas.

"Believe me, I would do anything to witness you shouting commands and petty insults, however I am afraid that the royal title does include an unsolicited sacrifice every so often," he replied and added, "I trust you will do fine without my guidance."

"I merely brought you here for entertainment, anyway," she yelled as he waved her goodbye and disappeared behind a stairway.

Tauriel then fixed her battle attire, swung the weapon in her hands, and turned to curious faces of the soldiers. "What are you waiting for? Form the positions!"

* * *

The groundwork for the forthcoming battle continued in such steadfast pace until the very eve of the doomed day. Each evening, Tauriel and Meatherion took upon themselves the burden of receiving a new group of twenty soldiers, willing to redefine and renew the art of warfare. The task itself was not as strenuous and desperate as was teaching the freshmen how to properly wield certain swords, but it did introduce a new amount of stress into the situation. The captain of the royal guard and Lord Commander were facing an extreme time pressure, having their task approved only less than two weeks before the attack would take place. However, the two officials remained one of the most skilled warriors in the entire Realm, and with King's trust and endorsement they gained enough faith to believe they were capable of transforming the royal army into Gods' own whip of destruction.

Legolas would be lying if he claimed he was relieved not to be there. Having finally reconciled with Tauriel after bearing a grudge for far too long as it was, he wished to do anything in order to maintain the amiable atmosphere they entered at last. After all, she was his only constant support through both good and bad times. The last thing he would want was to soil the many years of reciprocal amity upon which their sole relationship was based.

It was rather selfish of him to indulge in such thoughts. He was aware that nurturing the bond between them was to their mutual benefit, but he could not ignore the feeling as though he was not completely honest with her, at least in the past few weeks. It was as though he relied on her as his personal consultant, a form of relation that was essentially much more useful to him than her. By admitting to this he'd also realised that his mind was preoccupied with matters which especially burdened him, and consequently afflicted her as well. He realised he had been a poor friend to Tauriel.

And the entire flow of guilt he'd been undergoing had one source of origin – that damned flame-haired elleth and her damned green eyes that kept reappearing in his mind. No matter how hard he had pressured for the two sparkling jade-like jewels to disappear somewhere in the black pits of his mind, they fought back with the seemingly innocent fluttering of their lush eyelashes and piercing whiteness that surrounded the beautiful irises. The expression they conveyed gripped him hard and dragged him back into the hollows of despair and unattainable desire. In those moments of utter weakness he found he could not win unless he completely gave into the warm sensation.

In an instant, he could imagine a thick tuft of red locks gliding through his palms, absorbing the magical power they boasted through every cell on his skin. As he allowed the sensation to seep through him, he could the same power possess him and obsess him all over again. Once their skins created contact, his senses intensified to a level he never imagined was feasible.

Suddenly, his imagination relocated both of their bodies to an entirely different location. Legolas turned around him in confusion and in awe of the ability of his imagination. Both him and Aireiel floated merely inches from a tall, sparkling green grass which appeared to be a part of a large, round glade, engulfed in a swarm of woodland animals such as loud bumblebees, fireflies, colourful dragonflies, and other forms of flying insects. As Legolas continued to observe the nature around him, he noticed he could feel each animal's movements crawling upon his skin. It was as if he had adopted their senses yet remained active in his elven form.

He could then see his hand move away from his body towards the elleth in front of him. His large palms surrounded the silken skin on her face, caressing each part of the skin offered to him. Her head tilted then in the direction of his clutch, rubbing gently against the cup his palms had formed which embraced her cheek like a soft wave of cool water.

The tips of his fingers instinctively drifted upward towards Aireiel's eye sockets and circled around the sensitive skin around her closed eyes. All of a sudden he sensed a movement beneath his fingertips and he could see her eyes opened with a slight quiver, like spontaneous fluttering of a newborn butterfly. But as he patiently waited to be rewarded with meeting with her glorious jewels, he noticed a bright dazzling glow glimmer from beneath her eyelids. The more they opened with slow progression, the more their glow blinded him. Even though his elven eyes were specialised and adjusted to bright sources of light, this was a form of light he'd never encountered before.

At last, his curiosity defeated his admirable patience. He drew near the mysterious light originating from her eyes in search for the desirable jewels. But as soon as he arrived in the space of close proximity, Aireiel's eyes suddenly burst open right in front of him. A splash of vibrant, colourful rays of light gushed forth directly into Legolas's eyes who had to lift his elbows in order to protect his eyesight. However, the moment the light seemed to lessen in its intensity, a voice appeared out of nowhere. The light was still to bright to discern whether it spread from Aireiel's lips, but its melodic rhythm of speech persuaded him to continue to listen. But once the chilling voice reached his ears, a wave of shiver crawled upon his back.

 _Everything around you is burning,_ the voice came like a slithering snake in his ear, _and there is not a grain of strength in you to prevent it. A grave misfortune has befallen the Realm, yet you stand idly by it as it falls into ruin. You cannot escape the inevitable chaos the great prophecy shall bring upon your Kingdom. It is all merely a beginning of the divine arrangement._

Legolas employed all the forces in his body to awake from this fantasy-turned-nightmare that had crippled his entire body. Only after several unsuccessful attempts at doing so, he realised the fantasy he had previously deemed innocent was in fact nothing of the kind. Its power stretched beyond the boundaries of his imagination, therefore, Legolas had concluded, it must originate from something more powerful and vicious.

Then he noticed the burning light in Aireiel's eyes had significantly lessened in its effect, so he could finally look the evil that had possessed him straight in the eyes. But when he finally did, Legolas noticed the figure in front of him was gone. Without a single trace or sound it had evaporated into thin air. In its stead, Legolas was left alone in the middle of the meadow. The previously vibrant green grass had now turned into a trampled, dirty mire.

Before he decided to stand up to shake of this unpleasant dream, Legolas sensed a group of light footsteps approach him with rapid speed. Immediately he turned to assess the imminent danger when he noticed three running figures escaping from the hooks of the forest darkness. He could feel his body tense as they advanced in his direction, fearing he would frighten the group even more they had already seemed. As soon as the figures emerged from the dim light the meadow was engulfed in, he discerned one figure was taller than the other two who clenched to it with a firm grip. It was a mother absconding whatever horrors threatened her with two small children.

Shockingly, Legolas discovered their glimmering eyes were not at all focused on him laying lazily in the middle of the ground they were crossing, but a destination spread out directly in front of them. The mother was adorned in a gossamer gown which embraced her slim figure, now deformed in a grotesque manner due to the hasty getaway. But there was one significant detail about her appearance the Prince had almost immediately determined. It was her flowing, wild fiery hair which floated in the air lightly along with her swift movement. It was not until then the ghastly realisation seeped into his mind – he was witnessing Aireiel's family abduction.

His feet moved instantly and forced him to stand wobbly on the round meadow. Something within his body urged him to help this poor elf-woman – defend her from whatever evil she was hiding from and keep her safe, yet the more he desired to move close to her the more he realised he was powerless against the tide of the past events. Not knowing how or why, he was chosen as a helpless observer in this tragic event whose appearance in his imagination still baffled him. _Why me? Why this specific moment?_

Before he could determine an answer to his insistent questions, the flame-haired beauty had disappeared from his view. Legolas was left on his own to dwell in the middle of a place he had never visited before, not knowing both how he got here in the first place and how to return home. The Prince roamed around the clearing for a few minutes, pondering on how to awake from this strange daydream. All of a sudden, a vision entered his eyesight – a celestial being with the familiar shade of locks came running towards him with a speed of light. Legolas figured she must have been merely a century or so old, still a hên. Even though her body gave the impression of a fragile, vulnerable being, her haste and spirit were as fierce as of any grown elf. When she reached the top of the meadow, where Legolas had been standing all along, he could discern the mournful sparkle in her eyes which shifted from left to right. Only when those precious gems met his desperate look from across the meadow, he recognised the little girl as Aireiel. **(H** **ê** **n = child)**

 _There must be some wicked witchery at work here,_ he kept telling himself as he continued to stare into the elleth's lost eyes. _How else could I have seen what my eyes have just witnessed?_

With that last unrequited question his form began drifting away from the clearing. Legolas sensed his own body float above the elleth who remained still in the meadow, her gaze directed at something ahead of her. The only hope Legolas could hold was that she would find a safe path home or whatever was left of it. He did recall Aireiel's description of her past which was full of pain, devastation, and ruin; only now he could fully understand the meaning of her feelings behind those words.

As he observed his own body fly away from the scene, he noticed Aireiel's movements turned somewhat erratic, confused, and fitful. All he wished in that moment was to be able to hold her and let her in on a secret that the future had enormous plans in store for her. But not only it was too late for that, it was also impossible. The only thing left to do was to watch her fade from his view.

 _Legolas,_ a distant voice called for him. But it did not come from the ground he had just abandoned – it emerged from somewhere in the back of his mind. _Legolas, do wake up now!_

The voice became clearer with each new command, and only after having his name called the fifth time did Legolas realise he was slowly returning into reality.

"Adanion?" the Prince looked at his comrade in confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"The question is what are _you_ doing here?" Adanion replied with bated breath.

Before Legolas could enquire further into Adanion's absurd question, he was beginning to get aware of his surroundings and environs. He was firmly situated with his back against the wall of one of the hallways passing through the servants' quarters. How in Gods' names _did_ he manage to get here?

"Here, allow me to help you," Adanion offered to lift him from the stone ground.

Once Legolas was steadily back on his feet his head swung and rotated in all directions to determine the environment he had been stuck in for an unknown amount of time. He realised he had never even roamed these corridors.

"What happened to you?" his comrade demanded to know with utter seriousness.

"To be completely honest with you," the Prince replied, "I don't even know myself. One minute I was hurrying to pass on an information to my father, the next I was floating above a large meadow in the middle of nowhere."

"Have you had one to many again?" Adanion asked flippantly.

"This is no joking matter!" Legolas shouted harsher than he intended to. "The last thing I remember was taking the stairs in the training area. After that, my thoughts drifted into unknown tides until I was brutally awoken by you."

"Well, your presence was needed in the King's chambers," Adanion hurried to defend himself. "Since you have apparently not taking the usual route, we had to search for you at nearly every corner. At least you have not gone missing. I am not sure your father would be able to handle another disappearance, let alone of his son."

"What do you mean by another disappearance?"

"You must have been unconscious for quite some time then, eh?" Adanion switched to his jollier mood once again. "I will escort you to your father who will let you in on all the details you have missed in the past few hours. But I am warning you – he is not in his best mood."

"Then again, is he ever?" Legolas sighed as they set out to Thranduil's chambers.

* * *

In truth, the King had not been in his best mood for weeks now. Each step reminded him of his failures as a regent to his nation. Each breath brought him closer to the imminent battle which approached with blazing speed and reeked of further destruction of his Realm. However, as much as it was tempting to yield to endless pity, the heavy crown which rested on his silken hair reminded him of the duty he bore as a King. A duty he was compelled to carry out, regardless of the cost. But so far, the cost had escalated to measures he doubted he was able to afford. So far, the only thing he had been greeted with was failure and loss. If the situation was to continue in such conditions, Thranduil feared the war would end in their disadvantage before it would even begin.

The information Meatherion passed to Legolas to deliver the King has also reached Thranduil's ears. Though he admired Meatherion's need for constant communication in order to forward the public's message to the King, he had grown tired of it for the message was always unchanged in its nature. It usually consisted of proclaiming his Majesty as an incompetent and lazy monarch whose deeds had only drowned the nation into further ruin, but most recent ones mentioned the matters of war as well. Those spiked his attention for a brief amount of time before he realised their purpose was the same – provoking the royal wrath so the public could finally justify their false claims and pin their sorrow on someone they deemed the true source of their misfortune.

He paced up and down the chamber as he waited for his son to finally arrive after having gone missing for a few hours. The last thing this Kingdom needed was his son's whimsical behaviour when he ought to have been paying more attention to its necessary improvements.

"Ai na vedui, Legolas," Thranduil met his son with a hint of reprehension. "Le athae, Adanion." **(Ah, at last, Legolas. Thank you, Adanion)**

Thranduil waited until Adanion's footsteps faded away to approach Legolas. "Where have you been this entire time?"

"I keep getting asked questions I have no answer to," Legolas murmured to himself before turning to his ada. "Currently there is a big black gap in my memory, and until I find what purpose it serves I cannot explain why it occurred."

The answer seemed to have pleased the King which was an unusual reaction, given the circumstances of his mood that day. Thranduil gave his son a suspicious look and then continued with his agenda.

"We have received a report of another unexplained disappearance," he began. "It concerns the maid who discovered the body in the healing chambers, Faelwen, who happens to be the only witness of the said incident."

"What happened?"

"She was supposed to report for duty the day after we questioned her. Since she never appeared, her superior deemed it wise to alert us of her absence," Thranduil decided to pause for a brief second. "I hope you understand how dire the situation has become. We cannot afford losing witnesses after mass murders occur within our borders. Whatever force has decided to run an experiment with my patience, I am afraid it has run out."

Even though Legolas paid attention to each word his father had said, a part of his mind was not present in the chamber at all. The centre of his thoughts was occupied by someone else entirely, despite having his father's furious face directly in front of him. Still, he felt obliged to at least show that a part of him agreed with the concerns his father had just shared with him.

"What would you have me do?"

"Nothing is certain at the moment," the King replied with a tone brimming with worry and doubt. "Therefore, I do not have established your position just yet. However, I would appreciate your full attention when it is needed. Your behaviour must change, Legolas," his voice suddenly softened as he uttered his name. "Your whims and disposition towards spontaneous adventures must be put to an end. You must understand when I say that I need your help now more than ever."

Legolas stood in silence for over a minute, trying to settle the storm in his mind. There were so many things he wished he could say to his father this very moment, but he knew all his requests would fall on deaf ears. All Thranduil's ears wanted to hear was his agreement and silent obedience. He was aware there was still a large chasm between the two of them which could not be bridged unless a compromise was made on both sides, and Legolas was not sure if he was fully rested for that type of conversation.

While the tension was at boiling point, Legolas's conscience kept dragging him elsewhere. In fact, anywhere but here. However, the Prince knew he wouldn't be able to escape from his father's grip as easily. First, he would have to give him something in return in order to earn his leave.

"I have already begun recruiting new soldiers into the elite troops," the Prince declared. "On your request I will ask of Tauriel to hasten the preparations and from now on devote my full attention to help them develop their abilities to the appropriate level."

The report obviously delighted the King for it painted a smile upon his lips that Legolas had not seen in weeks.

"That is the enthusiasm I was waiting for," he roared before turning to his short table and pouring himself a glass of crimson liquid. "I will eagerly await results."

Hoping that would ease Thranduil's mind, Legolas already span towards the direction of the exit, but was abruptly interrupted by his father's deep voice that made him freeze in his position in the middle of the escape.

"In a hurry, are we?"

"There are some matters I need to attend to," he blurted without thinking.

"Funny, I was told you had no recollection of the past few hours," the King pressured.

"It just sprung in my mind," Legolas hurried with one foot already in the hallway.

As he finally escaped the chamber, he could hear his father exclaim behind his back: "I sincerely hope she is worth it."

The last statement stung in his back like a knife wound. It made him stop in motion for a brief moment before setting out again. It still sent shivers down his spine at the mere thought of how well his father knew him, even at his most vulnerable state.

A dark-haired servant softly called for her name while she was observing the night sky unfold into day. Even though as a member of the elf race she barely required any rest, she would often pretend to fall asleep simply to be woken by the warm rays of the first morning sunlight.

"What is it?" she asked kindly.

"The Prince wishes to speak with you."

The information almost cost her of her breath, but she refused to surrender to the pain that just afflicted her chest. What more could he possibly say to her? As far as she was concerned, the damaged caused to their relationship was beyond mending. Still, she agreed to meet him in her guest chamber. The servant left with Legolas's arrival.

"I apologise for disturbing you at this hour," his trembling voice said, and Aireiel noticed she'd never seen him so unnerved. "But I must urgently speak with you."

"That much is clear to me, yes," she responded coldly, not giving in to the imploring look in his round eyes. "What is the matter you intend to discuss with me?"

"It is about your family," he spat without further notion. "I have reason to believe your family might still be alive."

Blackness had descended upon her eyes as Aireiel felt her knees yield to the weight of the words Legolas's had just uttered. The rest remained covered in darkness.

* * *

 ** _Hans Zimmer - Aurora_  
**

 **A/N: it was definitely one of the most intense chapters, but with the war approaching the atmosphere in the Woodland Realm becomes even more passionate. This particular composition came into my mind when I was writing the part of Faelwen's abduction. It's just as chilling, tragic, and mysterious as was the moment the darkness engulfed her mind and captured her in its claws!  
**


	15. December Update

**Hello guys!**

 **I am writing a different sort of update this time: to tell you that my story HAS NOT ENDED, in case any of you were wondering if I had perished in a cave or something.**

 **However, I do have important news to tell you, that this fall I have started Law School. To say that it has been occupying both my mind and soul would be a severe understatement! But at the same time, I am allowing it to occupy me so much because Law is very interesting, fun, and dynamic, contrary to popular belief. It has turned into night and day submitting assignments, papers, and loads of homework, plus regular studying. But like I said – it's a perfect combination of masochism, which is basically the most accurate description anyone can give you about a UNI course they enjoy lol.**

 **The point is, that the story is progressing, however slowly. I have loads of chapters coming up that simply require more polishing, but I am always either in a hurry or under huge time pressure or just too drop dead tired to allocate the deserved attention to my story. We're in for massive plot twists, court drama all over Middle Earth kingdoms/regions, and most of all – suspense and action!**

 **As promised and owed to you – the anticipated chapter update will come soon and in due time!**

 **Until then – enjoy your holidays in festive spirit, free of studying as I certainly won't!**

 **Skol! (I'm not a Viking, yet this seemed like an appropriate way to wish you good health in the middle of holiday season lol)**


	16. Chapter 15

**Here it is, our own Christmas miracle - a new chapter update! Again, I'm sorry for the delay, but here it is nonetheless!**

 **I hope you're enjoying the holidays and wish you a happy new year!**

* * *

To Edenir's relief, who was sent for to be informed of his daughter's rapidly declining health, Aireiel's conscience was reawaken shortly after his arrival. The moment he received the news, he plunged into a frantic race across the palace and demanded answers as soon as he stepped into the chamber. Once he saw the Prince leaning against one of the pillars, hidden behind the entrance of the chamber to provide space for the royal physician who was currently examining the elleth, Edenir tilted his head in disbelief and let out a sigh with distaste, his eyes rolling away from the noble figure. _Of course this royal vermin was present while my iell's health turned for the worse._

After having devoted the Prince a rather surly look, Edenir's knees took him to the cold ground where his daughter lay completely still, apart from her chest which raised and fell with short, shallow breaths. His hands found their way towards her face almost impulsively, making the physician's duty all the more difficult and uncomfortable. Finally, the physician's patience had run out as he politely asked of Edenir to release Aireiel's head in order to fully examine her and determine the cause of the unexpected vertigo. After they had lifted and transported the elleth onto a bedstead covered in soft silken cushions, the healer was able to assess the situation.

"My final conclusion would impute the sudden lost of consciousness to unexpected wave of shock," the hadhro uttered, "as her heart rate is still above normal with no clear signs of dehydration or any other influence which could have triggered this condition." **(hadhro = doctor)**

"What are we to do next?" Edenir hurried with a series of questions. "When will she wake up? She will, won't she?"

The healer gathered his medical instruments and then gave Edenir a serious look. "Her body requires rest in order to regain the strength it has lost during and after the shock. That means no abrupt stimulus or impatient movements," at this point he turned to both Legolas and Edenir who listened attentively. "Regardless of its outward state, her body is still fragile and highly sensitive. If you should follow my advice, she is to awake soon. She is a tough fighter."

With those last words the physician took his leave, creating an even more tense atmosphere between the two conscious elves than before. Even though Edenir did not even bother to take another look at Legolas who expected Aireiel's awakening just as eagerly and anxiously as her father, his every move indicated disinclination towards not only the Prince, but also towards the system.

Edenir interpreted the incident as a clear proof of the Realm's noxious influence which had now resulted in a physical attack on one of the guest's bodies. This pointed toward the dangerous audacity the Realm's administration had decided to employ as a next stage in transforming their guests into insignificant menial subjects of the King. However, Edenir had decided that to be the Realm's final decision in regard to their state as their guests. For the time had come for them to free of the ulcerous chains that had robbed them of their personal freedom.

"May I come to her?" a voice interrupted his furious scheming just then. He recognised it as the Prince's.

"I would like to spend some time with my daughter," the older elf replied indifferently, "in private."

Despite the courtesy Legolas had showed towards Aireiel's father of asking for his permission to approach her, he seemed to have completely disregarded the rejection he had received as his footsteps made their way towards the bed. The Prince was sure to bypass the kneeling father when he reached Aireiel's proximity as well as his incredulous, vindictive gaze which wounded him like a wasp's sharp sting.

Nonetheless, Edenir failed to think of a new strategy with which he would politely display his utter contempt and disdain for the elf who dared to even remain in his daughter's presence after having caused her such pain.

The old elf was no fool either as his memory still served him quite well. He recalled Aireiel's attitude towards this particular royal elf – as if he had some sort of hold on her she could not break free from. All his inner impulses urged him to prevent the Prince from casting further adverse influence on his motionless and powerless daughter. However, reason forcefully intruded his devious plotting and scheming; Edenir realised the most heedless thing to do right now would be forming an enemy of the elf who thus far had not inflicted any direct suffering or posed a threat to them. In order to expose the true source of Aireiel's trauma he would simply had to wait until she would disclose it herself.

"Emel, im sí, tolo enni," a faint voice appeared then which startled both elves. **(Mother, I am here, come to me)**

"Aria, I am here," Edenir then called for her. "Please, awake!"

Legolas intuitively put his warm hand on Aireiel's as her fingers clenched the edges of the velvet cushions surrounding her. Unintelligible whispers and weak mutters lingered on her mouth with tiny drops of feverish sweat forming on the skin above her pale lips. Legolas then lowered his head towards them to catch a word which might give both of them more insight into whether Aireiel was beginning to regain consciousness or was merely undergoing a delirium.

"Can you distinguish anything?" Edenir asked insecurely while cautiously paying attention to each Legolas's move.

"I do not believe she is with us just yet," the Prince responded as he continued to intently inspect Aireiel's facial movements, hoping they would give a smallest sign of awareness.

Then, without any warning, the elleth's hand gripped the one of Legolas as she looked him straight in the eyes. The unpredictable movement produced a wave of shiver to run down Legolas's spine. Once he looked closely, he noticed something extremely exceptional and eerie. The colouring around Aireiel's pupils abandoned its previous jade-like shade; in its stead, a powerful light radiated directly in Legolas's eyes. The more he surrendered to its addictive impact the more it dawned on him he must have encountered the blinding glow before, yet somehow failed to recall where and when. Before managing to determine its familiarity, the light had disappeared while Aireiel's eyes suddenly grew especially tired and heavy.

"Stay with us, Aria," he heard himself whisper to her ear once her eyelids began closing again. The surprising softness employed in his prayer startled even Edenir who was too frightened and tense to approach any of them.

As if his voice possessed some magical ingredient, Aireiel's weary eyelids finally lifted to meet the enchanting, inviting tone begging her to return. Then again, the Prince's voice did prove to have priceless value and exceptional influence on her in the past, having brought her back to life on a previous occasion.

The moment Aireiel was able to distinguish the environment and the figures surrounding her, she carefully uttered: "Ada? What happened?"

In that instant, the Prince twitched and began to remove from the sitting position he was occupying in order to provide space for the elf Aireiel had demanded, but he was intercepted by a cold hand he immediately recognised as hers. "Remain here," she ordered, and he obeyed.

Edenir, who had barely come to grips with what had just happened, bolted towards his daughter whose consciousness began to gradually restore. He instinctively searched for hand and pressed it close to him. "Are you with me?"

"I am, ada," she replied, meanwhile tried to lift herself and find the least painful position in which she would receive the news of what she had just undergone. "What am I doing here?"

"The healer's report said you lost consciousness and have been unconscious for quite a while," Edenir quickly took it upon himself to explain the recent events. "He also mentioned the trauma was most likely caused by certain shocking information. Would you be able to remember anything about that?"

Aireiel's lips parted in order to protest against this preposterous notion, but then her eyes flew to the figure partly hiding behind Edenir's frame. Once Edenir sensed her attention had been directed elsewhere, he slowly shifted his wide shoulders so that Aireiel's eyes were finally able to meet with those peeking behind Edenir's back.

For a short moment, Aireiel felt an urge rise within her to reveal to her father everything Legolas had told her seconds before her mind descended into unknown darkness. The urge implored her to confide in him the storm of emotions she experienced when the information settled in her mind; she yearned to liberate her soul of this heavy burden laid upon her that, in the end, might prove to be hopeless and in vain. Deep down she realised Edenir deserved to hear those words just as she did (even though they were more or less imposed on her), but at the same time she avoided to get her hopes up which had many times proved to be more ruinous than useful.

"I would like talk to the Prince in private, if I may," she then uttered, surprising both elves who'd been patiently waiting for her response.

Naturally, the request both baffled and aggravated her father who believed the Prince to be the source of Aireiel's recent anguish, therefore he could not understand why she would choose to tolerate him any further. Why would she continue to torment herself after having suffered such unpleasant consequences of being in the Prince's company?

Edenir realised Aireiel was determined to stay resolute in her demand so he was left with no choice but to withdraw from the position. As he was nearing the exit of the chamber, he turned to his daughter: "I shall be waiting for you," to which Aireiel responded with a quick nod. With that gesture, Edenir's presence was gone.

The atmosphere in the chamber notably unwound as the two remaining elves both sighed of relief. However, the silence could not have gone on forever; not with so many unsaid words lingering in the air.

"Thank you," Aireiel heard him say then.

"For what?"

"For not putting me at your father's mercy, knowing I would receive none," he confessed.

Aireiel chuckled lightly at his words before assuring him: "The only reason I decided not to disclose the information you told me is because I'm afraid I still do not understand it completely myself. I figured letting him in the discussion prematurely would only cause more discord between us."

Legolas silently agreed to her wise judgement as he lowered his gaze towards the ground, then spoke softly: "I never wished to harm you."

"The fault was not yours," she affirmed, "and it never crossed my mind to lay the blame on you, my Prince."

His reflexes twitched at the mere mention of his royal title and his head unintentionally sprang towards the elleth. "If I remember correctly, we agreed on calling each other by our true names," he said lightly. His gaze flew to the floor once more before confronting her eyes. "I wouldn't bear to see any harm come to you."

The sudden and unexpected revelation of Legolas's emotions caused a rush of goosebumps to arise on Aireiel's pale skin while her expression remained unaltered. A few weeks ago she would have swiftly changed the subject if she ever found herself in such delicate situation. However, right now she could not break the bond their eyes were currently forming, even if she tried. Which, of course, she did not.

She could feel her eyes widen with each new second as they explored the depth of his blue irises. In fact, she never realised how enticing and captivating they were until that very moment. While she remained unaffected on the outside, her inner impulses urged her to simply dive in the divine azure his eyes offered. At one point, she noticed his eyes explored hers just the same; with same passion, hunger, and desire to discover the wilderness behind her captivating irises. But the sensation was abruptly extinguished as she felt gentle fingers creep upon her palm. Unintentionally, Aireiel's reflexes forced her to recoil from the unexpected touch.

"Please, forgive me," Legolas hurried to apologise, hiding his hands away from hers. She was as frail as the wings of a butterfly, and he managed to crush them every time he decided to take a risk of approaching her.

"No, I must beg your forgiveness. I did not mean to startle you. My senses are still a bit susceptible, I'm afraid," Aireiel said with an awkward smile, knowing her words were a far cry from the truth.

The Prince made no sudden movements after that. Aireiel soon noticed his growing tension and discomfort which she tried to reduce by filling the silence with silly babble, hoping it would distract him from the recent embarrassment. "How have I become so feeble and weak? While I have never suffered any serious injuries in my life, it seems I've been stealing your healers ever since I have arrived here."

"You and your father have in no way proved to be a burden to us," Legolas said smoothly, knowing his father would probably roll his eyes at these words. Then his voice grew more solemn. "It has been confirmed an unknown dark force is at work here. Ever since we lost one of our Council members, its influence appears to be only growing in strength. I fear that until we finally confront it in battle, there is no alternative way of annihilation."

Then, without warning, her father's words emerged in the back of her mind that burned into her like searing steel. _We first need to reclaim something that had been stolen from us._ The second she heard him utter these words she was aware what he was referring to. It was not possible for them to execute their escape plan without retrieving the sword which had been passed onto her kin as confidential, historic legacy.

Then again, Aireiel was well aware that the Dragon Slayer's eminent reputation posed both a blessing and a curse to her and father. The weapon boasted not only an exceptional form of power and energy, but also a deeply compromising secret about their true lineage. If the secret should ever but brush up against the ears of the Realm's administration, their meticulous plan would be immediately quashed while both of their lives would be put into jeopardy. Bearing all the risk and wager in mind, Aireiel understood that the only way they were able to protect themselves was to get a hold of the sword before anyone could learn its real value.

But at this moment, she learned she was too puny to be able to perform a role with double faces when, if her performance should not be persuasive enough, it could result in catastrophic consequences. For now, she decided to attend to matters that forced her in her current position and resolve one issue at a time.

"Tell me everything you know about my family," she ordered. Legolas then took a deep breath before disclosing each and every detail he remembered from the hallucinatory experience. He began from the moment he left the training area last night and the instant he arrived to her chambers this morning. As the story unfolded, the Prince himself was surprised at how well he managed to preserve every scrap of the peculiar dream. At the end, he was just as confounded as Aireiel who paid close attention to every detail mentioned in the story.

"What part of it led you to believe my family might still be alive?" she wondered shortly afterwards.

"I understand better than anyone that putting false hope into something as improbable as praying to find your relatives alive is very dangerous and at times unavailing," Legolas admitted. "Most of the time we insist on praying because we think of it as an act of remembrance of those we have lost so they may remain in our hearts forever, fearing we'd otherwise lose them all over again. Therefore, I would not be telling you this unless I sincerely believed it would avail you in some way."

He paused with a sigh as heavy as the burden currently overloading his chest. Then he realised that after being privileged to witness one of Aireiel's family's last moments, he was obliged to reveal this burden to her; the only person who was entitled to whatever information regarding her family he was withholding from her. After liberating himself of the burden, he would not be responsible for the plausible interpretations of the disclosed information. For all that would matter afterwards, was knowing he'd done the rational and just thing.

"One does not so easily find appropriate words for something one does has not fully comprehended, but I intend to do my best," the Prince began.

"That is all I am asking of you, Legolas," she prompted, deliberately using his first name.

"The moment you evaporated from my touch, I felt as though my mind had been transported into another dimension, with my body only serving as its intermediary," he spoke quietly, using his words with utmost care and caution. "Suddenly, it did not feel like a dream any longer; my own mind tricked me into believing like I was truly there. I could even smell the fluid sludge beneath my feet. Then, as you know, I saw your mother running across the field with whom I assumed were your siblings. But it was more than a mere observation; I was able to bond with their agony and trepidation to the point where I attempted to approach them and offer my aid." There, he paused again to observe Aireiel's reaction which was as stolid as it had been for the entire time of his visit.

Legolas could have taken that specific notion as a bad omen, but he decided to continue with his account which he deemed his moral duty. "I cannot find any other way to interpret it but to understand this sudden ability of pure empathy as a distant connection with your family. Believe me, I have tried to make sense of the matter myself many times before deciding to share this information with you, and I always seem to arrive to the same conclusion that I would not be able to experience such intense bond with their emotions unless they wished to channel themselves through me in order to potentially reach out to you."

Even though Aireiel appreciated his eloquent and attentive choice of words, the interpretation of such information presented a heavy concern to her, especially because at the moment it had appeared to be the only tenable explanation of the events. The entire narrative of the experience Legolas went through seemed like a convoluted work of dark fantasy fiction as were these past few weeks. That fact alone made Aireiel wonder how did one make sense of something that sounded so surreal and bizarre?

The freshly established question carried her back in time and brought her to the point where Legolas mentioned an unknown dark force was at work here. Aireiel was well aware that the world she lived in was crawling with creatures of such foul nature she could not have devise it worse in her darkest nightmares. The very air she breathed was polluted with pernicious fumes of decay from lands not that far from her long-forgotten abode. She came to all of that knowledge on that tragic evening which turned into the longest night she'd ever faced, the night when her entire perception of the world had collapsed and was replaced with a sweltering hatred towards the brutal reality she was forced to accept far too soon.

With all of that knowledge she was convinced she was able to imagine close to every living, walking horror she could face in her lifetime on this earth. But once she was introduced to this malevolent enemy the Realm was facing, her beliefs were crushed and burned once again. She was not frightened nor terrified of this dark force the Prince spoke of; she discarded the foolish emotion such as crippling fear a long time ago and replaced it with curiosity as many times as possible. The mention of mere existence and influence of the said force made Aireiel impatient and anxious. If it were able to beguile and disarm the King without leaving a shred of evidence, she wondered what else was it capable of? Where else it had progressed? Could it be it had already come upon a passage into her own mind without her even noticing?

Her disorganised ramble of thoughts was interrupted by the Prince's worried voice: "Are you feeling alright? You have gone quite pale."

"I am fine, simply taken aback by the entire matter," she hardly audibly muttered.

"I realise it is a lot to assimilate all at once," Legolas admitted. "But I felt it was my duty to at least inform you of it. The longer I kept it untold the more it oppressed me, the heaviness in my bones arresting my every step. If you wish to never speak of it again, I will bury this matter to rest. Otherwise I want you to know I am always at your disposal whenever you feel the need to talk it through. Or anything else, for that matter."

In reality, Aireiel was more than simply taken aback by the information Legolas had just shared with her. The fact that someone other than her father had spoken out loud about her family was shocking enough, let alone mention the probability of them being alive and well enough to attempt to find a way to communicate with her. At the same time it was a relief to come across a person who was also prepared not only to instil hope and faith but also personal effort into proving her belief about her family's status. It was a subject she had not discussed with her father since the awful attack at Dol Guldur weeks ago nor did she have a desire to, knowing the outcome already. All of her effort, faith, and confidence would be dismissed as a mere illusion, a comforting yet fictional bedtime story she kept repeating to herself until she would fall asleep dreaming of a previous life.

The truth was that Edenir was too afraid to confront and embrace the idea which was an alternative to their relatives being dead simply because so many years had passed, and most likely because he had already adjusted to the hopeless life without ever learning the truth. Aireiel naturally refused to accept that notion or that sort of lifestyle. Maybe it was due to her whimsical, self-willed nature that would not allow her to conform to shortcuts or it was because, unlike her father, she never lost hope in her family still being alive somewhere. And she intended to fix her attention on the latter.

Arriving to that conclusion, her thoughts reminded her of the conversation she had with father not long ago and the decision they mutually agreed upon. She realised now was as good a time as any to begin to make developments regarding that decision which would eventually, if all should go according to plans, result in the two of them finally escaping this golden cage.

"Come to think of it, there is, in fact, something you might help me with," Aireiel said then, looking straight into Legolas's eyes.

* * *

In the remaining tense days leading to the execution of the attack, the wisest of the surviving Sages voluntarily locked themselves in the Hall of the Sages and formed their nest near the ancient library where for three days straight they tackled the difficult task of conniving additional footnotes to the strategy already devised by the military masterminds of the Realm. The attack was to be implemented in little more than a week with its main objective to assess the strength and capacity of the army potentially gathering in the south, determine the source of incoming soldiers, and annihilate it forthwith, should it prove necessary. The Realm was prepared to send not more than a regiment of soldiers into unknown fate awaiting them at the southern stronghold for it faced two pressing obstacles. One was not knowing what sort of foe they were marching against (in case it should take a bloody turn the Realm would not face too great of a loss), and the second was not having a definite solution on how to transport the group of stomping soldiers to the destination without being detected in any way. And that very issue was being thoroughly examined by the Sages in pursuit of a miraculous salvation.

Having stared for hours at the same stain on the table caused by the scented wax flowing over the silver candle holder and not arriving at any worthy conclusion, Calaron finally decided to stretch his stiff neck and sore legs with a quick stroll around the higher levels of the library, hoping the chambers of gathered ancient knowledge would provide him with a fresher perspective he was so desperate for.

The current facts stated there was no method known to elf kind which could enable them to move unnoticed pass the countless spies the enemy must have installed along the paths towards the south. Calaron realised that right now the only option available to them was to send the soldiers regardless of the unidentified perils lurking in the shadows and pray for a successfully accomplished task while the odds were far from in their favour. Once the King arrived to the same conclusion himself, he summoned the wisest elves in the Realm to entrust them with the currently most confidential mission and assigned them the greatest task they had ever received, bearing in mind the pressure of potential catastrophe in case they should fail.

Out of all the present Sages, Calaron was especially burdened by the disastrous consequences that would follow if they didn't come forth with a useful solution in the next few days. Not once in his lengthy years of loyal service to the Realm did he manage to disappoint his King in any regard; his unwavering faith, sharp wit, and renowned incisiveness always proved to be indispensable tools in furnishing the King with desired results. However, this time, as much as he hated to admit, he was not feeling so hopeful or faithful as he would wish. Instead, his mind was crawling with doubts, ambiguity, and unhealthy amount of edginess that usually filled him with adrenaline which was now replaced with constant dread clouding his reason. He anticipated the sensational feeling of relief of arriving to a solution at last so vividly he could almost feel the unrelenting tension leaving his body. But he decided not to allow himself the satisfaction of drowning in these imaginary emotions until he discovered the justifiable reason to do so.

The anxious Sage continued with his stroll and slowly began to ascend the spiral stairway leading to the higher floor of the library where they stored valuable scrolls and manuscripts on the subjects of natural remedies, pharmaceutical elixirs, recovery treatments, and healing procedures, properties, and skills. This was essentially the source of all proficiency the elves possessed on medicinal issues. In other words, it contained the span of their abilities to produce magic with the help of specific herbs, potions, and enchantments. Once that notion had settled in Calaron's mind, he finally began to slowly unfold the hidden benefits of the knowledge hidden in the parchments mouldering on dusty shelves.

"Erulaeon," Calaron shouted for one of his fellow Sages who was sitting at the head of the long table, surrounded by various thick documents containing (as the Sage had just recently discovered) nothing of use to them. When he heard his name called out by the main Sage, he immediately discarded the scroll he was currently studying and went to join his companion.

"You wished to see me?" he announced his arrival once he reached the highest floor of the library, overlooking the hall below.

"If my memory still serves me well, you once used to manage a group of our most competent healers, some century ago. Am I correct?" Calaron inquired.

"Indeed you are," Erulaeon confirmed proudly. "It was during the time when we came across several important discoveries regarding the methods of healing which we later applied in our daily practice and were greeted with very gratifying results."

"Oh, yes, I remember it now. I was very glad to hear the Realm had benefited from such significant developments under your guidance," the main Sage said cheerfully, but his voice grew more serious the next moment. "You were summoned here because I have a favour to ask of you."

"I am willing to help to the best of my abilities."

"Indeed it is your renowned medicinal abilities I require," Calaron revealed. "While I was strolling these passageways, an idea sprung in my mind that has not occurred to me before. An idea that could provide us with the progress we are so desperate for. I was hoping you and the most talented healers of your choice would care to discuss this idea with me and seek for developments in that specific area. That way we could work together towards finding an optimal solution to offer to the King."

Erulaeon listened closely to each word with his focused eyes squinting at Calaron's. "Are you saying you have found a method to enable our troops to move undetected at last?"

"Not quite, I _may_ have a rough draft of the potential method," Calaron uttered quietly, "but only with your help I will be able to achieve a final conclusion. What is your answer?"

There was a moment of tense silence between the two when none of them could predict what the other was thinking or suggesting with their expressions. But then a spark ignited in Erulaeon's eyes which revealed the answer Calaron's was fervently hoping for. "I will begin to recruit some of my finest acolytes straight away."

"Your effort will be of great use to our endeavours to reach the desired goal," Calaron smiled with relief and grabbed his fellow's arm with a friendly, grateful grip.

The two wise companions parted with a feeling of contentment, hope, and sweet anticipation. If Calaron's plan should succeed (which he was determined to see to it himself), it would indicate a major breakthrough not only in military department but his career as well. Even though Calaron was without doubt the most distinguished and respected out of all the Sages, a reputation he had obtained by hard work, uncompromising devotion, and unwavering faith, it did not stop him from developing further aspirations and ambitions. While his position in the royal administration as well as the royal family was indisputable, Calaron's personal survival instinct taught him never to take anything for granted. Those words accompanied him in these dark times as well when he strived to preserve the comfort and favour he had acquired in his time.

The longer he occupied his mind with eager motivational thoughts the more he felt the confidence within him grow. It was refreshing to have experienced a rush of positive emotions during such woeful circumstances because after a long time it gave him a sense of hopefulness for what was to come.

Calaron very much disliked the feeling of being left in the dark about what the future might hold and the prospects of being surprised, it was simply against his restive, cautious nature. He was born with the constant desire to hold the reins on the flow of current events which gave him a sense of power and control, a certain combination of feelings which could slowly become very addictive.

Up until the point of the discovery, Calaron was addicted to the thought of finding crucial, yet unidentified information which would ensure victory in the forthcoming battle against an unprecedented foe. Now that his goals had been achieved, he was determined to look ahead and no longer wander aimlessly towards the future, but instead make sure he was the one with full control over the flow of events.

* * *

Ever since the letter of utter distressing nature had crossed the borders of Lorien, the Lady of Galadhrim committed herself to attend to this matter in the most amicable, subtle, and diplomatic way she could afford. As a legitimate ruler and protector of her people, she felt a great amount of responsibility to present this situation to the nation at an appropriate moment, when she would have all the necessary facts in her possession. The consequence of such responsibility was nagging pressure that had been growing to become a constantly present nuisance, forcing her to clarify and resolve the current relations between Lorien and Mirkwood.

In fact, these two of the most prominent regions in Middle Earth had quite an unsettling history of ambiguous conception regarding their relationship. The elves of Mirkwood and Lorien used to have much closer relationship since both of their communities essentially originated from Nandorin and Silvan descent. However, much to both of the regions' misfortune, their relationship was significantly affected and spoiled during the awakening of the Balrog of Morgoth, Durin's Bane, as well as the rise of Sauron in the southern Mirkwood which forced both communities to avoid each other's regions due to the rising evil. Eventually, both communities started to have less and less contact during the years which resulted in vast gap between the elves of Lorien and Mirkwood.

Galadriel had a very difficult task ahead of her; she was obliged to deliver the news of spreading evil to her people in the most comprehensible way in order to avoid any misunderstandings and potential outcries. Though her faith in them had never even slightly waned since she and her husband came to power during the darkest period in Lorien's history, she was also wise not to ever underestimate their ability to cause unpredictable chaos in case circumstances would take a random turn. For a local uprising was the last thing this or any other realm needed.

The flaxen-haired beauty was walking fussily around the spacious area where main meetings where usually held, and pondered with great deal of sternness. She preferred peace and quiet when confronted with the task of having to arrive to an important decision in the near future. It was only later on, when a decision was already made on her part, that she would consider conferring with the rest of the nobility and her husband in particular, despite the fact that all enactments were executed unanimously and jointly. Such was her preferred regime and so it had been invariably supported and respected by all her attendants.

Galadriel remained firmly determined to arrive to a productive solution to the current situation under the same conditions as always, but something was simply not adding up this time. An urge grew within her to turn for advise to the elf she respected, valued, and loved the most.

Before she could even turn to whisper his name, Celeborn's presence already affected her senses.

"I could sense you needed my guidance," she heard him say softly.

"I have been pondering so thoroughly that I appeared to have gotten lost in my own thoughts."

"Even the strongest, most resilient minds need to take refuge from time to time," he assured her. "As always, I offer to help you dispel any uncertainties that pester you."

The Lady of Galadhrim halted in the middle of her restless walk around the area to process the facts she'd managed to gather thus far; she then arranged them in the same order in which she arrived to those facts, hoping it would perhaps shine some additional light on a detail she might have missed although she was aware of the small possibilities of that happening.

After doing so, she continued walking with a pace that some would still consider as rather leisurely, but anyone who was in regular touch with Lady of Light would realise such haste indicated she was in great deal of worry and anxiety. Her husband was always the first to detect even the slightest anomalies in her behaviour, and this occasion was no exception. However, this time he noticed one minor yet what he considered significant novelty which was added to the behaviour she was currently demonstrating.

"Nin mel, what is preventing you from confiding in me?" Celeborn tried once more.

The plea had without doubt induced another wave of unexplained agitation in her which he was able to deduce from her facial expression. When Galadriel was on the verge of finally spitting out what seemed to be troubling her mind, she was again almost defeated by the weight of her doubts which were timely allayed by the unexpected connection made by the touch of Celeborn's smooth hands.

When she managed to utter words at last, it sounded just like a whisper of a senseless thought that would be immediately carried away by the soft breeze of the night if not caught by the right ears. "Strange thoughts, filled with dark malice and evil whispers have been invading my mind lately. Until recently, I have not been able to place their source or intention, however with the arrival of that letter, things have become much clearer. It is not the blindness or unawareness of the situation that torments me; it is knowing that I must gather the courage and means to fulfil my duty to protect our realm no matter what disaster awaits us."

"Let us sit," Celeborn offered as he noticed concentration slip in the quick pauses between her sentences. Once again, Celeborn's sharp sense for detail had proven not only comforting and timely, but also quite useful.

Hand in hand, they descended from the main gathering area to the lower part of the open-ceiling hall, surrounded with miniature floating lanterns which brought out an especially lovely glow in this time of late afternoon. Galadriel, slightly visibly relaxed, sat first on the stone bench, located in the corners of the lower gathering area. Celeborn gently placed himself close enough to let her acknowledge his presence, yet remained his distance far enough to allow her the feeling of freedom to develop the thought she had started.

"Our past mistakes have been cruel masters who taught us that ignorance and indifference will not bring us the desired result of victory and peace," the Lady began after capturing the most appropriate moment. "If anything, such methods have only proved to prolong the agony which was to come to all in due time. What we should have done in the remaining time was to exploit it to our best advantage by joining forces while there was still a chance. I am not willing to repeat that mistake once more."

Celeborn paid close attention to her articulated words, and while the last thing he wanted was to douse the long-awaited spark of optimism, there was still one little detail that bothered him.

"What exactly _was_ in that letter?"

"It contained information of extremely sensitive nature, regarding the condition of King Thranduil's Realm," she hurried to explain. "However, I have yet not been able to determine the sender of this highly hazardous note which could have, had it fallen into the wrong hands, caused a significant chaos in the northern regions."

While Celeborn was deducing the received explanation, Galadriel added with a slightly lowered tone: "A gruesome murder of one of the officials has occurred right in the centre of the palace in broad daylight. Moreover, there have been several reports of unexplained kidnappings, arsons, and other wicked activities. It is safe to say the situation in the Woodland Realm is gravely out of control."

"Do you believe these wrongdoings were the work of the same dark force that tried to penetrate our borders not that long ago?" Celeborn prompted carefully.

"Unfortunately, I do. I refuse to believe it to be sheer coincidence that once confronted with defeat at our borders, the same foe would move to the north and attempt to wreak havoc there. They must have sensed more propitious conditions to spread and nestle their malice in the middle of Mirkwood. The slow deterioration of the forest was a foolproof cover for them to hide their spies. From there forward they most likely merely tracked the commonly used paths that led to the palace's hidden entrances where they possibly made their breakthrough."

"That does seem the most likely strategy," her husband agreed, adding, "however, we must not forget we are not dealing with a lame, inexpert amateur. These dark forces must have been gathering their strength for a longer period of time in a stronghold not far from both of the realms, otherwise we would not have been its first targets. I think that with some help, we might be able to place the source of our enemy based on the reconstruction of its recent activities."

Galadriel squinted her eyes while deepening into the bottomless pit of her broad mind. The thinking pattern they had both compiled together was not at all that unimaginable or improbable. In fact, the more thought she gave to it, the more sense she began to see in the theory they had created.

"Something tells me we are not the only one who have come to such conclusion," the Lady concluded. "Otherwise we wouldn't have received the letter containing mere facts with no indication of any plea for aid whatsoever. Whoever sent this must be aware of our defence capacities as well as our ability to act upon this most distressing news with sword and fire. The sender decided to remain anonymous due to the fact they needn't reveal themselves in order to provoke a realisation that they possess enough power and intellect, which would lead us to assume it must be someone of great importance."

"But not Thranduil himself," Celeborn half asserted, half questioned.

"The style lacks his typical drop of pride," Galadriel mused as she stood up from the bench, suddenly experiencing a reviving energy rushing into her bones. "No, it must have been someone who is close enough to the King to be aware of the gravity of the situation but fears him just enough to send out the letter without his knowledge or approval, risking a hard fall from grace."

"I suggest we order further research regarding the issue of the sender," the graceful elf stood up to join his wife. "Perhaps we should call for Haldir and his brothers?"

"I agree to assign them to the task," the Lady said, "however, I think we should wait until we have developed the matter to the point where they are fully conversant with the objective they shall be aiming to achieve. It should also be our priority to organise enough troops ready to depart in case we should receive an official King's notice. Now, it is more crucial than ever that we stand ready for any scenario ahead of us."

Celeborn switched in his position to turn to his wife, facing the smoothly cut, pale profile of her face. While indeed she had not aged a day since they'd met, she managed to possess the eternally charming wisdom which inevitably arrives through years of experience. He was constantly inspired by her strength, energised by her maintained poise, and reborn through her endless kindness.

"Have you managed to ease your mind a little bit now?" he asked as he ran his long fingers across her pale, soft skin.

His skin shivered as she turned her ocean-blue eyes to him. "Only with your help, my beloved."

* * *

While some souls for now managed to get some hours of rest in these turbulent times, there were still beings who found only possible form of comfort in the midnight expeditions in the heart of nature. However, the dark times of late robbed even those most pure at heart of their trifling amounts of luxury. For the evil was spreading fast and wide across the country, and Radagast the Brown was the first to had both acknowledged the acute changes and realised their deeper meaning and affect on the entire country.

The wizard stamped awkwardly on dried forest dirt, his heart breaking along with every fallen rotten tree branch he managed to crush with his step. His mind inadvertently took him back in the blissful memories of the past days when the forest used to lighten up as soon as the sun drowned behind the last mountain peaks. All sorts of glowing, droning, colourful creatures would begin to circle around his person, and he would continue to be dumbfounded by the magnificent nature's wonders each evening anew.

The only thing that seemed alive currently, was the everlasting glow of moonlight above him, shining down on one of the many hidden Mirkwood paths, known only to him. Those very paths had enabled him to explore the forest in the most unlikely ways where not many if any foot had ever been. Before he knew it, his curious feet carried him all the way to the most southern point he had been in a long time.

Clothed in a tattered ancient cloak whose colour was not even discernible any longer due to its antique state, a rolled up hat, and equipped with a firm pointy staff, Radagast entered a familiar clearing. He seemed to have reached the edge of the forest and have arrived to a location that appeared even more dreary, dead, and desolated than the rest of the woods. That meant a very horrific sight to experience: half beaten, half chipped trees swaying in sharp winter breeze, the grass was more or less non-existent, and a strange odour lingered in the air around this area.

As Radagast began to draw near the centre of the clearing, he could discern a shape of a swirl forming in the middle of it. Before he could figure out the purpose and origin of such strange natural (or was it?) occurrence, a rush of almost blinding lightning blazed across the swirl and formed a mysterious looking circle right beneath the whirling point.

In that moment, Radagast realised he was witnessing an event of far greater importance than he could have ever imagined before.

"Oh, this is not good," he whispered quickly to himself as he slowly took a step back, his eyes still fixed on the occurrence not far from where he was standing. "This is not good at all!"

* * *

 **Somehow I find this chapter full of suspense, increasing tension, and unsolved riddles. That is why the first composition I could think of to describe the mood of this chapter was _Mozart's Lacrimosa_ \- powerful, majestic, and gradually spooky, accompanied with that eerie choir. I deemed it most suitable for the current situation in the Middle Earth! **


End file.
